Shadows of Remembrance
by resauthor
Summary: An upcoming birthday and a difficult case leave Rita in a strange mood and Chris very worried. Crime! Romance! Angst! And hopefully a little laughter too. Chris and Rita are already engaged in this story. Mild adult content.


**Author's notes**_: _Shadows of Remembrance is a story I wanted to write for many years before I finally got around to it in June of 1999. Familiar faces, John and Nic, from Party Favors return in the beginning, but this isn't their tale. There is a crime involved, but this isn't a crime story. This is a love story. A romance. An exploration of love, loss and the journey two people go on when they fall in love and make that commitment to travel down life's road together hand in hand, heart to heart. A huge thank you to everyone who peeks in here. I hope it is as enjoyable to read as it was to write.

Mature themes and content. Do not proceed if this offends you. I'm not in the mood to chase after canon today, so it may be hiding in here somewhere. Rita's age is not pulled from the Silk FAQ, it is based on the age of the actress who portrayed her. Please forgive any leaps of logic or inconsistencies. This is the first CM story I have unearthed that doesn't need any editing so it is getting uploaded before those I am still working on. Once they are all posted, I will list them in my profile according to the Classic Moments timeline.

_**SHADOWS OF REMEMBRANCE**_

_"Sam…."_

_The cherished nickname reverberated between them._

_ Three small letters chained together by solid links of loyalty, friendship, and love - _

_Stronger than any steel, yet fragile as the human heart._

**_By: resauthor_**

From the street, the multi-million-dollar, single-story home at 6257 Portigo Way appeared to be under siege. The wide, circular driveway was filled to capacity with nearly a dozen marked and unmarked police vehicles, a coroner's van, and one antiquated Dodge Charger - badly in need of a paint job.

Inside the home, Sergeant Chris Lorenzo of the Palm Beach PD made his way to the master bedroom, passing busy members of the crime scene unit as they went about their individually assigned tasks. Less than an hour earlier, a now hysterical housekeeper had gone in to wake her mistress and discovered the dead woman laid out on her bed, still dressed in the short blue halter dress she had left the house wearing the night before. After fifteen minutes spent interviewing the sobbing housekeeper, Chris was ready to find his partner and compare notes.

He located her inside the elegantly furnished bedroom, her interest caught by framed photographs sitting atop a French Provencal dresser. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, dressed in tan slacks and a pale green blouse. His thoughts drifted for a second to her upcoming birthday and the gift he had picked out. The big day was less than two weeks away and secret plans were already underway for a nice dinner party with all of their close friends. There was an extra spring in his step as he closed the distance between them.

Hearing his approach, she turned. Possessive blue eyes met her gaze with warmth and affection, before sliding down to the graceful curve of her jaw and the smooth, bare skin of her throat. If a half dozen years of denial couldn't kill the instantaneous desire just the sight of her inspired - then nothing could. His fingertips tingled with tactile memories of soft, yielding, flesh…

Clearing his throat, he refocused his thoughts and nodded towards the dresser. "Did you find anything?" When she didn't answer right away, his eyes narrowed in concern. Something about her expression prompted him to move closer and make physical contact. Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he took a closer look at the family photos.

"Nothing out of place in here," she assured him, looking up with a half-smile. "What did you come up with?"

Tilting his head to one side, Chris ignored the commotion around them as he observed his partner. She appeared to have dealt with whatever had momentarily unsettled her.

"I just got a call from Cap," he explained. "George is on his way and we're supposed to wait for him. Elizabeth Garrett was the wife of Daniel Garrett, a self-made millionaire, and king of all things furniture on the East Coast. A major campaign contributor in local and state politics. George doesn't want us stepping on any toes."

"He must be worried if he's coming down here himself." Rita crossed the room as she talked, joining the medical examiner at the victim's bedside. "Has Daniel Garrett been notified?"

Chris followed, checking his notes. "Yes. Garrett was on a fishing trip down in the Keys but he's being flown back by helicopter and should be here soon."

"What about the daughter?"

"Someone by the name of Kathryn came by yesterday morning and picked her up. I couldn't get much more out of the housekeeper, but Sanders is with her now. Hopefully, he'll be able to calm her down enough to find out who this 'Kathryn' is." He paused, catching Rita's eye as they waited for Taylor to finish her preliminary check of the body. "How about lunch at Mario's?"

She glanced back at him with mock disgust, lowering her voice as she leaned closer, "I'm not in the mood for Italian. Besides, you had a big breakfast less than two hours ago. How can you even think about lunch already?"

"Not in the mood for Italian?" he echoed with a frown.

"Too spicy."

"That's not what you said last…"

Rita sent him a warning glance and quickly interrupted. "Cheeseburgers from The Pit?"

"That stuff will kill you." The unsolicited medical opinion was tossed into the conversation by Taylor when she finally looked up from the body.

"Probably," Chris admitted with a grin. He stood behind the young M.E. and tried to read over her shoulder, but couldn't decipher her handwriting. "Cause of death?"

"Strangulation," she answered, "but based on the condition of the body, I'd have to say she was placed in the bed post-mortem. Lividity suggests an upright position at the time of death and probably for at least a few hours afterward. Preliminary estimate is one or two this morning. Check this out." Taylor turned over one of the dead woman's hands. "There are pressure marks on each of her wrists. Not dark enough to suggest rope or handcuffs, but I'd guess she was bound by something. Possibly a scarf or strip of material." She turned the wrist back over, "There is also a faint stain here from some type of ink stamp."

"A club stamp?" Rita moved closer to get a better look. "Looks like somebody tried to wash it off."

"I can do a couple of tests back at the shop," Taylor assured her.

"What do we have here?" Rita questioned, brushing aside the victim's long, dark hair to expose a pale throat garishly marred by faint red lines and a series of dark circular bruises. Entangled in the hair at the base of the victim's neck were several long blue threads.

Chris, his hands still covered by latex gloves, used tweezers to remove the threads and then placed them in a small plastic evidence bag.

"How long before we can move her?" Taylor asked.

"George will be here in a few minutes," Chris informed her. "Her husband is important enough to rank special attention from the prosecutor's office."

Rita continued to check the area around the bed as she quizzed Taylor. "Any sign of sexual activity?"

"Not so far, but I'll let you know after I get her on the table."

"I talked to the first officer on the scene and he found the room just like this. The doors that lead to the patio were locked from the inside." Rita directed the comment to her partner. "Have all the other entrances been checked?"

Chris nodded. "Every door and window we could find. No sign of a break-in anywhere. The housekeeper swears she was in her room by 10 p.m. and didn't hear a thing." He tapped his small leather notepad with a pen, scanning the room for anything out of place. "Has anyone checked the answering machine?"

"Yes," Rita answered right away. "I found it in the study. It was clear."

"Excuse me!"

Chris glanced over his shoulder just in time to see George pushing his way into the room. The Assistant District Attorney mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and headed straight to them. He stopped short a few feet away, smiled at Taylor and then visibly paled at the sight of Elizabeth Garrett. Chris smiled and watched the older man turn his eyes to the ceiling.

"It's a zoo outside," George muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Somebody tipped off the press and that low life, Seagal, has been trailing me like a shadow."

A sudden, bright flash made one half of the small group jump and the other half reach for their weapons.

"Stewart!" Chris reached out to grab the troublesome reporter as he tried to run past, heading for the French doors and freedom. Keeping a tight hold on the squirming man's collar, Chris yanked the camera out of his hands.

George watched with disgust, Rita with amusement.

"Gimme that back, Lorenzo!" the five-foot-two walking dynamo insisted. "That's private property. I have my rights!"

"How did you get in here, Stewie?" Chris let go of Seagal's shirt and promptly opened the back of the camera, exposing the film. "You're contaminating a crime scene."

The short, balding man resembled a bulldog, with the tenacity to match. He tried to cloak his ambition with sincerity, "The people of this city have a right to know if there's a murderer on the loose!"

Nobody in the room bought it. They had all dealt with the freelance reporter before.

"Get him out of here!" George called out to two of the uniformed officers standing in the hallway.

"Lance," the desperate reporter called out as he was surrounded, "you've always been more reasonable than that gorilla you call a partner - give me a hint, just a hint about what's going down here." Lifted off the ground by his arms, his feet swung frantically as he tried to stall his removal. Rita approached him just as he reached the doorway. His hands clutched at the door frame. "Did Garrett kill his wife?" he whispered excitedly.

Chris stood there, looking forward to his partner's response. He actually felt sorry for Seagal. The excited man was obviously under the impression that Rita would take pity on him and offer some small nugget of inside information. Chris watched as his partner moved close to the reporter and spoke quietly. A second later, Seagal was blushing furiously while being dragged away by the laughing, uniformed officers.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" George addressed the room at large, still avoiding the body on the bed. "Garrett is going to be here soon and his wife's murderer remains on the loose."

"You are right, George," Chris nodded in agreement and opened his note pad. He raised a curious eyebrow in his partner's direction, but she just smiled and started detailing the evidence for the Assistant District Attorney. He'd have to corner her later and satisfy his curiosity, Chris decided, smiling at the thought.

The next few hours were spent going through all the necessary steps involved in documenting a crime scene. Photographs were taken, evidence was bagged and tagged, and neighbors were interviewed. The body of Elizabeth Anne Garrett was on its way to the morgue just moments before her husband arrived home, although he would soon follow her there to make a positive ID. Once the housekeeper calmed her nerves with a glass of white wine it was determined that Garrett's seven-year-old daughter was spending a few days out of town with her Aunt Kathryn. As soon as he arrived home, Daniel Garrett made the necessary phone calls to his wife's family and made arrangements for his daughter to remain out of the house for a few days longer.

* * *

Later that same day, back at the Palm Beach Police Department, Captain Harry Lipschitz stuck his head out of his office. "Lance, I need to see you in my office for a minute."

Chris glanced up from the report he was typing and threw his partner a questioning look.

"I don't know," Rita answered his silent query. Pushing back her chair, she rose reluctantly. A nervous tug on her vest straightened it out over the top of her slacks. With a forced smile on her face and a wistful glance at her partner, she headed over to the private office. Harry had returned to his chair and was waving her in before she had a chance to knock on the door jamb. This was not normally an encouraging sign.

"Rita..." Harry indicated that she should sit down.

She did so hesitantly, not quite able to identify the odd tone in the Captain's voice.

"Any motive yet on the Garrett case?"

"Not yet…."

"Is the ME's report finished?"

Rita eyed her boss curiously. "No, but Taylor promised to shoot it up here the minute she's done."

"What was your impression of the husband?"

"He admitted there was trouble in the marriage, but says he was determined to work everything out with Elizabeth for the sake of their daughter. My first instinct is to believe him." She glanced back over her shoulder. "Shouldn't Chris be in here also, Cap?"

Harry waved away the question. "Not necessary. He has work to do."

"And I don't?"

"Rita..." Harry didn't appear to notice the annoyance in her voice. He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter before continuing, "I'd like to think that you and Chris have become more than just detectives to me during the past few years."

Where could he possibly be going after an opening like that, she wondered. Her sixth sense for trouble was on full alert.

"I'd like to think we're all friends here."

Rita opened her mouth to say something, but the Captain continued quickly.

"Almost family, even..."

She had to interrupt at this point. "Captain?"

"Let me finish."

She leaned forward with tense hands clasped in her lap. "Is there something wrong?"

Harry stood up and walked around to perch on the front edge of his desk. "Look, Rita, what I'm asking for here is a favor."

Rita was still watching her boss cautiously. "Sure, Cap."

The conversation took an unexpected turn. Harry grinned widely and blurted out, "John and Nicki are in town."

"That's wonderful. How are they doing?"

"Fine, fine...marriage seems to agree with both of them."

She smiled thinking back on the pair of detectives from New York. "And the baby?"

"Just perfect," Harry beamed with pride, but his face fell quickly into a worried frown. "Which brings me to the favor I need to ask."

"I'm confused."

"I'm asking you to babysit," Harry blurted out.

Her expression froze. "You're kidding."

"I'm dead serious, Rita. This is really important to Frannie." Harry held up a hand before she could make another comment, "You are the only person Nicki would even consider leaving Jamie with."

"Cap, you know I'd do anything for you and Frannie, but I have absolutely no experience handling babies his age. He's only three or four months old."

Harry peered out over the top of his glasses, holding her gaze. "This trip to Palm Beach is the first time John has been able to get Nicki to go anywhere since the kid was born." Restless and a tad bit desperate, he pushed away from the desk and started pacing the floor of his office. Stopping abruptly, he turned back to Rita, "Remember that community service award that I mentioned our temple is presenting to Frannie?" As soon as she nodded, he rushed to continue, "It's being given to her in front of all her friends at a dinner dance this Saturday night. Frannie is really looking forward to having our godson there with his wife. This would mean so much to her." His frantic gaze never wavered, "Please, Rita, I'm begging you. Say yes - for Frannie's sake."

"I'd love to, Cap..."

"Thank you, Rita!"

"But..."

Harry shook a scolding finger, "No buts, Lance. I really appreciate this." Sitting back down in his chair, he picked up the phone and dialed his home number.

"Captain," Rita was in a slight panic of her own now, "I don't know what Nicki is thinking of, but I'm not qualified to take care of a baby that small. I wouldn't know what to do."

"Frannie, honey, it's me. Rita said she'd be happy to sit with little Jamie." Covering the mouthpiece with his hand Harry whispered, "What is there to do? It's not like he can run around and get into trouble at this age. He's a good baby. Hardly ever cries." Turning his attention back to his wife, he exchanged a few more words before promising to call her back later.

"Cap..." Rita had to stop him before this went any further.

"She cried," Harry said happily. "You've made her day, Rita. Frannie promises to call you with all the arrangements."

What had just happened? Her lips continued to move in protest, but no sound would come out. She was trapped, and she knew it.

"Back to work now, Lance," Harry shooed her out of his office before she could bring up any other arguments.

Chris watched his partner make her way back to her desk with her hands buried in her pockets and a worried look on her face. He waited patiently until she dropped into her chair. "Well?"

Rita frowned as she answered his question with a question, "Did we have any plans for Saturday night?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Good, because we're babysitting."

"What?" His eyes widened in surprise, "Who?"

"Cap just asked me to take care of John and Nicki's baby while the four of them go to Frannie's award ceremony on Saturday night."

"You don't look too happy about it. If you don't want to do it, why didn't you just say no?"

Rita threw him a look. "You're assuming I had a chance to get a word in edgewise."

Chris chuckled. "Sorry, Sam. I know how hard it is to argue with Cap when he has his mind made up." He grinned, warming to the idea. "You were just saying last night that we're turning into homebodies and should really get out more."

"This is not what I had in mind."

"Me neither, but it might be fun." He could sense her nervousness. "Don't worry, Rita. What could possibly go wrong?"

She could think of a hundred frightening answers to that simple question.

* * *

Two days later, Rita stood in the guest room of the Lipschitz home overwhelmed by the mountain of infant paraphernalia that seemed to have overtaken the small twelve-foot by twelve-foot space. It was everywhere, covering every surface. Creams, lotions, tiny clothing and nursing supplies that she couldn't even begin to guess the uses for. Even some God-awful looking plastic suction device that would probably look much more at home in a laboratory than a bedroom. Was all this necessary? She hadn't felt this inept since her first days at the academy.

"I can't thank you enough, Rita," Nicki murmured tearfully for the tenth time in just as many minutes. "I just couldn't bear to leave Jamie with a stranger." She checked the portable crib one last time, making sure her son was still sound asleep.

"He's beautiful, Nicki," Rita whispered, walking silently across the carpet to stand next to her friend.

Biting her lower lip to stem the tears that threatened once again, Nicki tried to answer calmly, "He looks just like his father."

"Are you okay?" Rita put an arm around the emotional woman and guided her back to the side of the bed. Sitting down next to her, she grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and passed it over.

"I'll be fine," Nicki dabbed her eyes, blew her nose, and took a deep breath. "Tonight is important to John," she admitted, much calmer now. "Harry and Fran are like second parents to him." Another deep breath. "I can do this."

Realizing how nervous Nicki was about leaving her son behind only increased Rita's own certainty that she was in over her head with this babysitting arrangement.

"You've never gone out and left Jamie with a sitter before?"

"Only when my mother-in-law came to stay with us for a few days," Nicki admitted. "Honestly, Rita, I can't explain all these runaway emotions going through me since he was born. I never thought I would be the type of mother that hovers over her baby, but I just can't stand to be separated from him right now. He needs me and he's still so small."

"Why did you agree to go tonight if you feel this way?"

"Did I ever tell you that Jamie was conceived during our visit to Palm Beach last year?"

Rita couldn't help thinking back to how different Nicki had looked on that night just over a year ago. Sent down to Palm Beach on special assignment, the NYPD partners had been the guests of honor at a party thrown by Harry and Fran.

Unbeknownst to anyone there that night, Harry had matchmaking plans for his godson, John. Not knowing that John's partner "Nick" was a woman, a woman already deeply in love with the tall dark-haired Irishman, Harry had tried to fix him up with Rita.

Chaos ensued, but the end result had been worth it. John and Nicki had taken a long look at their feelings for each other and a romance had begun.

"You never mentioned it," Rita answered with a gentle smile.

"As best we can remember, that was the only time we weren't careful." The fair-skinned blonde flushed pink at the confession. "It was all rather unexpected."

"It happens," Rita assured her, thinking back to the night that changed everything between her and Chris.

"I've spent all of our married life pregnant or recovering from childbirth." She smoothed down the material of the pale lavender cocktail dress she was wearing. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm going tonight for John. He took on more than he bargained for when we got together."

"And I haven't regretted a moment of it. Ready, Love?"

Both women looked up at the doorway in surprise. Rita's smile widened as Nicki once again blushed furiously. The New York City homicide detective was as handsome as ever, and the loving look on his face as he watched his wife left no doubt about the sincerity of his words. He held out his hand to Nicki and slipped an arm around her waist when she moved to his side. The threesome walked into the living where Chris was talking to the Captain.

"Be firm with the little guy, Rita," John teased as he helped Nicole with her coat. "Don't fall for that innocent look. He tries to use it on all the women."

"Don't worry, John," Rita assured him with a chuckle, "I know how to deal with charming men."

"What do you mean by that?" Chris joined the fun.

Frannie bustled into the room, hurrying them all along. "Emergency numbers are by the phone," she pointed out to Rita. "Make yourselves at home."

"Relax, Sweetheart," Harry crooned, leading his wife to the front door. "Chris and Rita know what they're doing." He turned to the baby sitters in question, "Right, you two?" He grew impatient when the detectives exchanged uncertain looks.

Nicki touched Rita's arm. "I showed you where everything is. Jamie will probably sleep right through until we get home, but just in case, you know where the bottles are. If you need to get a hold of me for any reason, Fran wrote my cell phone number down."

John interrupted when his wife's eyes started taking on that shiny look again. "Let's go, Nic. We don't want Aunt Fran to be late."

"If he sucks his fist, Rita, that means he's hungry."

"No problem," Rita tried to answer as if she had done this a hundred times before. No point in making Nicole any more nervous than she already was.

"And if he gets restless and cries in his sleep, there is a tape player next to the crib. The sound of the ocean usually calms him back down."

Harry was going glassy-eyed himself holding the front door open as he waited for Nicki to finish. He glanced at his watch, a move that was noted by his godson.

John took his wife firmly by the upper arms and pointed the reluctant mother in the direction of the open door. He smiled an apology at the other couple. "We'll be back in a few hours," he promised with a final wave.

Chris and Rita both let out a sigh of relief when the Lipschitz car finally pulled out of the driveway.

A grinning Chris sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. "I think Nicole is making this whole baby issue into something much harder than it has to be."

Rita laughed. He hadn't even seen the store of supplies in the bedroom yet. Crossing her arms, she remained standing and sent him a teasing look. "And I suppose you're speaking from experience?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"I didn't think so."

"Seriously, Rita. How hard can it be? Kids his age sleep most of the time. All you have to do with babies is feed them, change them and put them to bed."

"I hope you're right," she mused, keeping her doubts to herself. Most new mothers looked like they had been through a little more work than that. But, with any luck, little Jamie, named after the paternal grandfather who had been a dear friend of Cap's, would sleep right through the night until his parents returned to him. "I think I'll just peek into the bedroom and have another look before I sit down."

Chris pointed to the end table next to the couch. "The baby monitor is right here, Rita. John showed me how to use it. Come over here, sit down, and relax."

He was obviously more comfortable with this responsibility than she was. "You check the settings on that thing one more time," she instructed, "and I'll go check on Jamie. Just to be sure."

Picking up the brightly colored monitor, Chris adjusted the knobs a little as he listened to Rita's progress in the bedroom.

"He is absolutely amazing, Sam," her voice was filled with awe. Jamie was sleeping peacefully on his back, his tiny chest miraculously rising and settling with each gentle baby breath. Little hands were fisted tightly and he sighed when she gave into temptation and lightly stroked his cheek.

Chris was smiling when she returned to the living room. "How about some coffee?" he offered.

"Sounds perfect, I'll help."

Half an hour later they were curled up together on the couch listening to a CD from Harry's extensive collection. Talk naturally turned to the couple who had jumped into marriage and parenthood much faster than Chris and Rita had ever imagined they would.

"They seem very happy," Rita ventured the opinion softly.

"I thought so too. Must be a big adjustment though."

"I'm sure," Rita sighed. An adjustment that probably came easier to some than to others. Nicki might come across as an overprotective mother, but at least she seemed to be making all the right decisions. Jamie was healthy and obviously well taken care of. Parenthood was a world away from police work. How had Nicki and John managed it?

"Is Nicki going back to work?"

Chris' question interrupted her worried thoughts. "She doesn't know yet. From what she said earlier tonight, it sounds like she is on a six-month leave of absence."

"John was complaining about breaking in a new partner. He misses her."

Rita turned in her fiancé's arms and studied his expression. The soulful blue eyes were full of unspoken questions. "You okay?" she asked, touching his chin with her finger.

Chris nodded quickly to put her at ease, "Sure. I'm fine." He tightened his arms around her.

"Spill it, Lorenzo."

"Sam..."

Rita pulled away and sat with her back against the arm of the couch so she could look her partner in the eye. "Don't 'Sam' me, Christopher. Just say what's on your mind."

Chris hesitated a few more seconds but finally spoke up. "The similarities are obvious."

"Nicki and John being long-time partners who fell in love?"

"Exactly. It's like getting a sneak peek at our own lives in the not too distant future. Whether it's in six weeks or six months, once we take that step and get married, we will no longer be partners at work."

"We discussed this already. You said you were okay with it."

"I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Chris insisted in a clipped tone as he stood up and he walked over to the large bay window to stare outside. The quiet residential neighborhood was bathed in the soft glow of street lights, the only activity an occasional car passing through to destinations unknown. Slim arms encircled his waist and he hung his head, already regretting the way he had snapped at the most important person in the world to him.

Rita rested her head between his shoulder blades, holding on to his waist the same way a drowning man holds on to the only available life preserver. "Truth, Chris. It's what we always promised each other."

"The truth is..." Chris took a deep breath and continued to stare outside as he spoke. "I'm excited about getting married, and yet, the situation at work is like a dark shadow hanging over us."

It was difficult to remain quiet, but Rita managed somehow. Most newly married couples faced the adjustment of learning to live together. She and Chris would have to adjust to working apart after more than six years of 'watching each other's backs'. It was a sacrifice that they had both decided was worth it, but if Chris was suddenly having doubts or second thoughts, he needed to work through them now and not let them fester.

Chris turned in her arms. "I've never had a better partner in my life, Rita."

"Neither have I."

He cradled her upturned face in his hands. "We shouldn't have to lose that." His eyes dropped to her mouth.

"We always knew there would be a choice involved, Chris. You have to be sure in your heart that our personal relationship is more important than our professional partnership because we can't have both."

"I am sure," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips back and forth across hers. "Seeing John and Nick together has been a real reminder of what's in store for us."

"Chris..." Rita took a step backward and searched his expression. "I've come to terms with our situation at work, but if you still have doubts..."

Chris flashed a smile and turned the tables on her. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," his fiancée murmured, resting against her face against his chest once again. "You know you can ask me anything."

Chris stroked her back and spoke softly against her hair. "I know I asked you about this last Thursday, but I can't help feeling that something upset you while we were at the Garrett's house. "

"Besides a woman being murdered in the prime of her life?" Rita felt him stiffen, and instantly regretted the touch of sarcasm in her words. "I apologize, Sam," she whispered. "You didn't deserve that." Her partner remained quiet, and she was suddenly fearful. What was happening to them? They were both on edge and overly sensitive with each other. Her eyes turned up to search his, silently requesting forgiveness.

Little Jamie chose that exact moment to remind them of his presence. The baby monitor squawked with his cries and the couple reluctantly broke apart.

"I'll go check on him," Rita offered. Her fingertips brushed across the side of his face, ignoring the wealth of questions in the glittering blue gaze.

"Do you want some help?" Chris asked.

"No, I'll be fine."

* * *

Chris came awake with a start, immediately aware that something was not quite right. He reached across the bed, but the left side was empty. Lifting his head off the pillow, he glanced around sleepily. "Sam?" He spotted her in front of the window. Dressed for warmth in a long, burgundy silk robe, she was staring out into the darkness.

"Go back to sleep, Chris," she instructed softly, "it's still early." Arms wrapped around herself, she remained motionless, blending with the shadows.

He ignored her words and sat up, the blankets falling away as he thrust a tired hand through sleep tousled hair. "Is something wrong?"

Rita glanced over her shoulder as he left their bed and padded barefoot across the room. Two arms wrapped around her waist, bringing soft curves to rest against his solid frame. She exhaled slowly.

"I've been worried about you," Chris murmured against the soft brown hair tickling his chin. In just a few hours it would be time to get ready for work and he was no closer to understanding her quiet mood now than he had been when it first appeared out of nowhere.

Eyes closed, Rita answered slowly, choosing her words carefully. "I couldn't sleep, that's all. It's nothing."

Chris hesitated to ask any more questions. From day one, their relationship had been built on trust and even if it meant ignoring every instinct instilled by years of police work, he would accept her answer as the truth. Touching her chin lightly, he tipped her face up. The gentle smile on her lips could not hide the sadness in her eyes. It tore at his heart. "Come back to bed," he urged, gently pulling her away from the window. She went along without protest, and once they were back under the covers, he held her in his arms, spooning himself around her slender form.

Rita lay quietly within the security Chris' arms, not wanting to disturb him. His breathing eventually evened out and if he wasn't asleep already, he would be in a few minutes. She, herself, was doomed to watch the feathery talons of sunrise sneak in through the bedroom blinds. Insomnia was her body's first defense against ….. what?

Chris mumbled in his sleep, one hand straying downward to caress her hip before returning to rest at her waist. She shifted in his arms, but the smile that usually appeared at such moments was nowhere to be seen. She was shrouded in love and security, and yet - ever since the morning of the Garrett murder, she had been unable to deny the growing heaviness of her heart. Admittedly, this fatalistic attitude, this fear that her time and happiness were somehow limited by a cruel higher power, was not new. In fact, she had always sensed it, hovering in the background like a shadow since childhood, eating away at the edges of her consciousness. Trying to figure out what had suddenly brought these thoughts to the forefront was an exercise in futility.

The Garrett murder was tragic, but unremarkable when compared to the half dozen other cases they had already worked on this year. And although she had been stressed about the unexpected babysitting stint on Saturday, it had ended in laughter and smiles. Frannie had received her award, Harry had returned home beaming with pride, John had continued to flutter around his wife like a high school boy in love with the prom queen, and Nicki had been glowing after an enjoyable evening of grown-up entertainment. All six of them had sat down to fresh coffee and good conversation until the early morning hours. The remainder of the weekend had been spent relaxing with Chris around the apartment and enjoying a romantic dinner at a beautiful beachside restaurant.

Without a doubt, her personal life and her professional life were more fulfilling now than they had ever been, yet something was holding her back, refusing to let her fully accept such happiness. Maybe her problem was simply hormonal, or maybe her acceptance of the impending partner switch was not as honest as she pretended it to be. Chris was obviously having his own doubts, as evidenced by their conversation at the Lipschitz home.

The answers eluded her long after the sun had risen in the sky and the bedside alarm put an end to her quiet musings. Chris was unusually subdued as they dressed for work, but caught up in her own confused feelings, she made no mention of it.

* * *

Chris held the swinging door open for his partner. "Don't forget our eleven o'clock appointment with Kathryn Grayson at the Garrett house."

Rita walked past him into the homicide division of the PBPD. "I'll be ready. Coffee?"

"Sure." Stuffing his hands deep into his pants pockets, Chris followed her to their desks. Rita dropped her purse into a bottom drawer and headed for the coffee table. Her dark slacks and simple blouse seemed a direct reflection of the mood he was still at a loss to understand.

"Lorenzo!"

"Yeah, Cap." Chris turned towards the Captain's private office. His boss was standing in the doorway with a surprising guest.

"You remember Captain Johnson?"

"Absolutely." Chris walked over to shake hands. The San Diego police captain had not changed much in the last two years.

"How are you, Sergeant?" The casual, yet expensive suit and understated tie were topped off with a brilliant smile. "Nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you, too, as long as this isn't another attempt to entice my partner away from Palm Beach." Blunt, but polite, Chris didn't believe in wasting time. It was always better to make oneself understood right upfront. Johnson was no fool either. Chris recognized the spark of amusement in his eyes.

"I doubt that would be possible even if it were the purpose of my visit. Captain Lipschitz filled me in on the big changes around here. Congratulations."

Chris nodded his thanks, keeping a wary eye on the visitor as Rita made her way back toward them.

"Bob!" Her smile was warm and inviting as she set the coffee mugs down and approached.

The forced smile was making Chris' face ache, but he kept it in place anyway. Rita had shaken hands with Bob Johnson and was now in an animated conversation with both Captains. If she remembered her partner's presence, she was keeping it a secret. He tried to ignore the early stirrings of jealousy. After all, their relationship had long since passed the stage where they had to worry about outsiders affecting it.

The fair-haired visitor touched Rita's arm and Chris' eyes darkened along with his mood. Rita didn't notice, continuing to laugh and smile at whatever story was being told. She hadn't been this animated in days. Come to think of it, they had never really discussed what transpired during "Bob's" last visit to Palm Beach. Rita had mentioned going out to dinner with the man and the job offer, but not much else. They certainly fell back into conversation with each other easily enough.

"I really have to go." The San Diego Captain shook hands with Captain Lipschitz and then nodded at Chris.

"It's been great seeing all of you again." He started to walk away but turned at the door.

"Rita," he called out, "You'll hear from me by the middle of the week."

Chris whipped his head around to stare at his partner. Captain Lipschitz was already headed back to his office when Chris whispered, "What did he mean by that?"

"Weren't you paying any attention to the conversation?"

"Yes…" he stammered, "Well, maybe not close attention. What was Golden Boy talking about?" Rita sat down in her chair and he tried to appear casual, returning to his own desk.

"Your coffee is getting cold, Chris."

"Seriously, Sam," he attempted to appear only mildly curious. "We all know what Captain Johnson was after the last time he showed up. What's he doing back so soon?"

"It's been over two years."

"Really? Seems like it was just yesterday."

"Drink quickly. You need your caffeine. Captain Lipschitz asked me to set aside a few hours to give Bob a guided tour of the officer training facilities here in Palm Beach. He'll be observing at the Miami Academy for two weeks but wants to check out the satellite courses offered locally first."

"What about the Garrett case? You don't have time to play tour guide."

"We're only talking about three or four hours, Chris. I think you can handle anything that comes up in that short amount of time."

The polite smile was back. "Of course." Chris grabbed a file from the stack on his desk and stood up. "Cap needs the Warren file."

"You finished the final report already?"

His fingers drummed nervously on the manila folder. The lie he was about to tell stuck in his throat, so he purposely ignored the question instead. "I'll be back in a minute."

The Captain's door was open. Chris knocked on the door frame and held up the file when his boss looked up.

"Got a minute, Cap?"

"Sure," the older man waved him in, "have a seat." Chris shut the door, and Harry eyed him curiously. "Is that the Warren file?"

"Yeah."

Holding out his hand, Harry frowned when Chris failed to pass it over. "What's going on?" It was obvious that whatever the detective wanted to talk about had nothing to do with the case file in his hand.

Chris sat down and countered with, "I thought I'd ask you the same thing."

"Meaning?"

"What is Bob Johnson doing here and why did you assign Rita to help him?"

Harry studied the agitated man in front of him. Chris was perched on the edge of his seat, ready to do battle. "You know, if it were anyone else asking me such a ridiculous question, I'd swear they were….." His eyes widened in surprise. "Are you jealous, Lorenzo?"

"No," Chris answered immediately, "but we both know what went down the last time 'Bob' showed up."

Harry grinned with delight, leaning across his desk to wag an accusing finger, "You are jealous…."

"This isn't funny, Cap." Why did he suddenly feel like the straight man in an ancient Vaudeville act?

"Yes, it is." Harry clasped his hands in his lap and settled back in his chair. "You and Rita have been inseparable since long before I arrived in Palm Beach. Not only are you partners, but you're also best friends - two peas in a pod - two halves of the same whole. I've never met a couple more in tune with each other - and now you're worried about some guy that shows up twice in twenty-four months. It doesn't make sense, Lorenzo. Wake up and smell the coffee. Rita isn't interested in anyone but you, and after all this time you shouldn't need me to tell you that."

Chris slumped back in his chair; the wind ripped from his sails. Rita loved him, he knew it down in the very depths of his soul, but he also knew that something was bothering her. Something she didn't feel comfortable sharing with him - and that was his greatest fear. That she would shut him out.

"Cap?"

The tone of Chris' voice got Harry's immediate attention. He dropped the teasing banter. "What's the matter? Is there something wrong between you two?"

"I'm not sure."

Harry's surprise was absolute, leaving him speechless as Chris tried to explain.

"I can't put my finger on it, Cap, but ever since last Thursday, she's been different somehow."

Harry finally found his voice and asked, "That was the morning of the Garrett murder, right?" Chris nodded. "Did anything unusual happen at the crime scene?"

"No, not that I know of. If anything, it was less gruesome than most."

"Have you come right out and tried to ask her what's wrong?"

"Time and time again, Cap, but she keeps telling me she's fine. I've come to the conclusion that she just doesn't want to talk about it." Nervous energy propelled the detective to his feet. He paced the small office. "Maybe it's my fault that she's unhappy."

"Maybe you're jumping to conclusions," Harry suggested gently.

"She hasn't been sleeping for more than a few hours at a time," Chris explained, reluctantly, "and sometimes she is so lost in her thoughts, she isn't even aware that I'm in the room with her. I don't like it, Cap. Not one bit."

"Maybe she isn't feeling well." Harry was beginning to look as confused as Chris. "I could insist she take the annual physical a little early this year."

"Thanks, but I don't think she'd appreciate me coming to you with this." Chris smiled briefly, a tired, worried smile. "I don't know what else to do."

"Maybe this little birthday party you're throwing will cheer her up."

If anything, Chris' face fell even further. "I wish it were that simple."

Harry rose from his chair to stand next to Chris. He placed a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Maybe it's one of those woman things. I know Rita would talk to you if it was something important."

"Maybe…." Chris nodded. There didn't seem to be anything left to say so he reached for the doorknob. "Rita and I are heading over to the Garrett house in a few hours."

Harry offered a sympathetic look. "Keep me informed, okay?" His words carried an obvious double meaning.

"I will, Cap."

* * *

Chris stood in the airy, high-ceilinged living room of the Garrett home, half tempted to take his partner by the arm and drag her back outside for a private conversation. The housekeeper had gone in search of Kathryn Grayson, and the tension he sensed in Rita was completely out of proportion with the task at hand. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a tall woman in her mid-thirties.

"I'm Kathryn Grayson." The words were spoken by the attractive brunette with a young girl by her side. Conservatively dressed in a dark navy dress and low-heeled, navy pumps, Kathryn Grayson wore a minimum of jewelry and makeup.

"Sergeants Lance and Lorenzo," Chris explained, pointing to Rita and then to himself. The dark-haired child had to be the daughter of Elizabeth Garrett. The elfin-faced seven-year-old turned large, haunted eyes, to her aunt, seeking reassurances regarding this latest batch of strangers invading her home. She became the immediate focus of Kathryn's attention. Chris watched the woman crouch down and talk quietly to the girl.

When she straightened up, Kathryn turned to the detectives. "This is my niece, Annie." The housekeeper walked in at that moment and Kathryn urged Annie to go with her to the kitchen for a snack. "Please," she indicated the large white sofa, "have a seat."

"How is she doing?" Rita asked.

"I'm not sure if she understands that Elizabeth won't be coming back," Kathryn admitted candidly. "Daniel and I sat down with her on Saturday night and we tried to explain that her mother was dead, without going into any details, of course, but she hasn't said anything about Elizabeth since then. I can't imagine what she's going through right now."

"I can," Rita answered quietly, but Kathryn didn't catch the comment. "She's lucky to have you," she offered in a stronger voice.

"I would do anything for Elizabeth's little girl," Kathryn admitted. "In fact, I'll be moving in here for a few weeks, to help Daniel with Annie until he can adjust his schedule."

Observing the two women, Chris couldn't help but pick up on the numerous undercurrents in the room. The Grayson woman was holding something back, it was obvious in her body language and her tone. And Rita… well, there was something unusual going on there also. Her expression was hard to define. It was sympathetic, yet distressed. At the first lull in the conversation, he stepped in. "Ms. Grayson, the housekeeper stated that you are Annie's aunt."

"Actually, it's an honorary title."

"Oh?" Chris sat forward with interest.

"Yes," Kathryn was quick to explain, "I went to college with Liz. We've been…. I mean, we were best friends ever since. I was with her when Annie was born. Daniel was on one side of her bed, I was on the other."

Rita remained quiet, so Chris went ahead with his questioning. "How would you describe the Garrett's marriage?"

"It was rocky at times." Keeping her head down, Kathryn played nervously with the ring on her right hand.

"Would you say that was Daniel's fault?"

Kathryn turned shocked eyes to Chris and answered quickly, "No, not at all." She looked away again, gazing toward the glass doors that led to the back yard as if wishing herself out there among the blooming flower beds and tall shade trees.

Rita spoke up in a gentle but insistent voice, "Was Elizabeth having an affair?"

"I don't know."

Chris pushed the woman, anxious to get at whatever she was hiding. "Elizabeth Garrett was murdered and then returned to this house, most likely by the killer. Whoever committed this crime had easy access to your niece's home. There is no guarantee that they won't be back. We need your help."

Kathryn took a deep breath and then seemed to make up her mind about something. She rose from her chair and motioned towards the garden. "Maybe we could talk outside. Annie doesn't need to hear this."

Chris and Rita followed, eventually making their way down a stone path to a small gazebo. A table and four chairs, made of white ornamental iron, were set up in the center. They each took a seat and Kathryn continued.

"As far back as I can remember, Elizabeth talked about settling down with Daniel and starting a family. College was just a way to stay close to him and to kill time until he was ready. Everything always fell right into place for Liz and her life with Daniel was no different - until a few months ago. I don't know what started the trouble between them, she never clued me in and I never asked, but I could tell that she was getting restless. Daniel had always spent a lot of time on business trips, paying regular visits to all of his franchised stores, and Elizabeth started going out on her own at night whenever he was gone. Annie was being left with the housekeeper until three or four in the morning, so I finally stepped in and offered to take her home with me whenever Elizabeth planned on being gone overnight."

"Do you know where she went?" Chris' question hung in the air unanswered until Rita stepped in to modify it.

"Did you ever go with her?"

"Just once. A few weeks ago."

"Where did she take you?"

"To a club called 'The Edge.' It's over on Bailey Street in West Palm." Kathryn looked directly at Rita. "After Daniel called me last Thursday to tell me Elizabeth had been murdered, I made up my mind to keep quiet about the past, because my main concern in all of this has been Annie. She doesn't need to be a victim of her mother's poor judgment. But then I talked to Daniel over the weekend and he reminded me that she already has been victimized and the truth needs to come out if we are ever going to get past this tragedy."

Rita tried to reassure her, "Daniel Garrett gave you the best possible advice, Ms. Grayson, and I promise we will handle this with discretion. Nobody wants to see Annie hurt any further."

Kathryn nodded nervously. "Do either of you have a cigarette?" Her hands trembled, and she glanced hopefully from Chris to Rita, sighing when they shook their heads. "A nasty habit I gave up six months ago, but if there were ever an excuse to start up again….."

"About this club…." Chris tried to get her focus back on their questions. "What exactly went on the night you accompanied her?"

"I thought that if Elizabeth and I could spend some time together we might be able to reconnect. Maybe the growing distance between us was partly my fault. My mistake was in letting her choose our destination." Kathryn paused, but neither Chris nor Rita interrupted her, realizing how difficult it was for her to relive the experience. "We arrived at The Edge after ten p.m. and it was packed. At first, I thought it was just like any other dance club….."

"Was Elizabeth meeting someone there?"

"Yes…." Kathryn shook her head sadly, her eyes bright with moisture. "There was a small group of people waiting for our arrival. We joined them, had a few drinks, and before I knew it, I had become separated from Elizabeth and was left in the company of a man I had just met. Someone suggested we move the party into a private room upstairs, and I tried to decline."

"Where was Elizabeth at this point?" Chris asked softly.

Tormented was the only way to describe Kathryn's face when she continued. "As I was being dragged into a private room, I saw her standing in the hallway, talking to the man she had earlier introduced as Jackson. I called out for help, but when she started to walk toward me, Jackson pulled her back. He laughed and suggested I relax and enjoy myself. I know what you're thinking. I should have fought harder to get away…"

"No, not at all," Rita assured her.

"I wanted to," Kathryn interrupted. Her hands shook as she tucked her hair back away from her face, "but everything was becoming blurry."

"You were probably drugged, Ms. Grayson." Rita moved closer. "Do you know the name of the man who did this to you?"

"No," she whispered, her face once again twisted in guilt, "all I can remember is a large brass bed and a small, brightly lit room. I either passed out or blocked out everything that happened after he dropped me on the mattress." Facing Chris with a defiant look in her eye, she continued before he could ask the dreaded question. "Yes, I was sexually assaulted, and yes, Elizabeth knew about it. I'm sure they all had a good laugh at my expense."

Rita spoke up, "Why didn't you report this at the time? I know you thought of Elizabeth as a close friend, but her failure to help you suggests otherwise."

"You don't understand," Kathryn responded with a sad smile. "That entire night was a setup. They videotaped everything. There are about ten of them, mostly men, and that's what they do. They take turns singling out customers, and once a mark is chosen, they make contact, slip a narcotic into the victim's drink and then arrange for a private room. I was told to consider myself lucky - my short, videotaped session is pretty straight forward. Missionary style, with just one man."

Chris asked the first question that came to mind. "Were they blackmailing you?"

"No blackmail, although they might have started out with that in mind. What they're into now is much more lucrative and if their setup works right, the victim remembers being drunk and maybe an unfortunate sexual encounter with a stranger, but not much else."

Chris shook his head in disgust.

"How are they moving the tapes?" Rita asked.

"All the tapes are sold through amateur adult video catalogs. I wasn't supposed to find this out, but when I woke up, I went searching for Elizabeth and accidentally overheard a conversation between her and that scum, Jackson. If she was having an affair, it was probably with him. She was angry with him for involving me in their little game and tried to convince him to hand over my tape, even threatening to go to the police if he didn't." Watching Chris' reaction, she once again answered his question before he could ask it. "I don't know if the tape he handed her was mine or not. She destroyed it in front of him and then they kissed and made up. Nobody even cared enough to dump me at a back table in the club like they usually do, so I went outside and hailed a cab."

Chris glanced over at Rita and then back to Kathryn. "Can you tell us Jackson's full name?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Elizabeth was very secretive after that night. Our friendship was destroyed, but I made a conscious decision to always be there for Annie. Daniel was confused about the changes in Liz, but she wouldn't talk to him either, so he started spending more and more time away from home. I could see that Elizabeth's obsessions had started to affect her home life so I offered to take Annie home with me whenever Daniel was out of town. She agreed easily.

"Are you in love with Daniel Garrett, Ms. Grayson?"

Rita's question drew a surprised glance from her partner.

Patent leather soles could be heard racing over the stone pathway towards the gazebo, and Chris stood up as Annie neared. She gave him a wide berth, rounding the wooden structure to approach her aunt from the opposite side.

Kathryn smiled patiently and stood up to take Annie's hand. "Is lunch ready?" An enthusiastic nod assured her that it was. "Are we done here?" she asked the detectives.

"You haven't answered my question," Rita reminded her.

"Yes," was the reluctant answer. Kathryn raised her head and stood tall as if daring them to condemn her.

"We're done for now," Chris said, breaking the tense silence, "but we may need to talk to you again." He closed his notebook and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "We'll let ourselves out." Rita kept quiet as she followed him through the house, and out the front door. "Well?" he asked when they were finally back in the car and on their way to the station.

"Elizabeth Garrett had everything she ever wanted," she answered. "The husband, the family, the big house and the shiny new car. What inspires a wife and mother to throw all that away for some guy she meets in a bar?"

"Love?" Chris tossed out with a grin.

"Possible, but not likely. Not in any normal sense, anyway."

"Money, sex, addiction, loneliness? Take your pick - mix and match as you choose. We see it all the time."

"You aren't getting cynical on me, are you, partner?" Rita kept an eye on his profile as he drove.

"Who? Me?" Chris reached over and took one slender hand in his. "You'd never let that happen."

"We should get over to The Edge and check it out," Rita suggested, changing the subject. "It shouldn't be too hard to discover Jackson's last name."

"We should run a check on him before we head over there," Chris added. "I'll give Anderson over at West Palm a call. Hopefully, he's heard of this guy."

* * *

Harry had come up with his own ideas by the time the detectives took a seat in his office. "I just got off the phone with the commissioner," he informed them, "and there are quite a few people watching our progress on this case."

Chris settled back in his chair. "They must be bored out of their minds so far. It's only been four days, Cap."

"I know that Lorenzo," Harry snapped back impatiently, "but as I mentioned before - the Garrett fortune has come to the aid of numerous political campaigns here in Southern Florida. We've been instructed to solve this case quickly and with a minimum of publicity."

"That might be a little difficult," Rita responded, propping one elbow on the arm of her chair as she rubbed the side of her head.

"No kidding…" Harry sighed. "If that weasel, Seagal gets a whiff of the video angle, you can bet it will be all over the six o'clock news, ruining any chance we might have of getting inside this operation."

"Inside?" Chris repeated in surprise. The look in the Captain's eyes was making him a little uncomfortable. "We just got the video lead a half-hour ago. We still aren't sure this group ties into the murder."

"But it's a pretty safe bet…."

"Sure," he nodded. "What exactly are getting at, Cap?"

"I talked to Anderson not long after you did," Harry confessed with a smile, "and he's backing us all the way. They've been trying to shut down The Edge for the last three years but haven't been able to come up with any hard evidence to prove what this group is up to."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Chris was on his feet. "The club is in West Palm. If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, then you can tell Anderson to go in there himself and take care of it." He looked to his partner for support but her head was down and she remained quiet. "Rita?"

Harry continued on as if Chris' protest had never occurred. "The man we want to concentrate on is Jackson Kincaid. Your interview with the Grayson woman has tied him into the case, so get over to West Palm after lunch. Anderson will get you up to speed. He has an inside contact who tends bar, so you'll be guaranteed entrance tomorrow night. "

"Don't we have any say in this?"

"No."

Chris' mouth had dropped open and when Rita finally looked up, he threw her a frustrated glance.

She stood and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "We can get in and out in an hour or two. Why all the fuss?"

Frowning, he was quick to explain, "I don't mind a little undercover work, but this doesn't seem necessary."

Harry interrupted again, "Anderson has two unsolved homicides on the books which he believes are tied into Kincaid. Previous attempts with undercover teams have failed, in part, because Kincaid appears to have a highly developed sixth sense about people."

"What makes Captain Anderson think we'll do any better?" Rita asked.

"The two of you are a real couple," Harry blurted out, looking surprised that they even had to ask such a simple question. "Add to that the fact that you are both fairly photogenic….."

"Gee, thanks, Cap," Chris said with a grimace.

Harry shot him an impatient glare over the top of his glasses. "If anyone can get past Kincaid's radar, you two should be able to."

Chris placed a hand on Rita's lower back and immediately noticed the tension there. She was not as relaxed as she tried to appear. Was it because of this case, or was it something more? "I don't like it," he muttered. Solemn green eyes turned to him, silencing any further comment. He glanced at the Captain, who had picked up on the undercurrents also.

Rita spoke softly, "This might be the only way to stop this group."

"All I am suggesting," Chris argued, "is that we establish more of a connection before we attempt to go undercover."

"Whether he killed the Garrett woman or not," Rita insisted, "there are a half dozen other felonies charges that could put Kincaid and his friends behind bars. The use of date rape drugs is a growing problem, and what they're doing to these victims at The Edge is a huge step beyond even that."

It was hopeless, Chris decided. He was outnumbered and Rita had that stubborn look on her face. "Are we going to have some back up in there?" he asked by way of submission.

"The safety of my detectives is always a priority," the Captain was quick to assure them both.

"I hope so," the disgruntled detective muttered. "I have no desire to end up starring in my own video series."

"Series, huh?" Harry teased, trying to ease the tension in the room. "You're a pretty confident guy."

The look on his face had both Harry and Rita laughing out loud, but Chris just didn't have the heart to join them. He wasn't happy with the situation. Something between himself and Rita was off-kilter right now, making this an unwise time to complicate matters with an undercover assignment. Undercover work demanded focused attention, steady nerves, and clear thinking.

In spite of his doubts, it was nice to see Rita smiling again as she helped the Captain come up with a title for his fictional video series.

"Homicide Stud," Harry offered, "Life Between the Sheets!"

"I'm going to lunch," Chris mumbled, turning his back on the creative duo. Maybe a chili dog would help settle his stomach.

* * *

Rita stared out the passenger window of their borrowed, late model Jaguar, trying to absorb the peacefulness of the quiet residential neighborhood they were passing through. The streetlights cast a protective glow on the well-manicured lawns and neatly trimmed hedges. Many of the houses they passed were dark inside with parents and children tucked away safely in their beds. Did anyone actually live such a storybook existence? Maybe her view of families had been tainted by too many years in law enforcement.

She tried to shake off such brooding thoughts. To admit to wanting such a life, to admit to her dreams of a house, kids, and even a mortgage, was to put her future happiness on the line again, and that was something she couldn't face right now. Especially lately.

"What's your ETA, Lorenzo?"

The Captain's question brought her wandering thoughts back to the job. She listened to Chris' answer and adjusted the small receiver hidden in her ear. The state-of-the-art equipment being used tonight was on loan from West Palm and was supposed to guarantee constant two-way contact with Captain Lipschitz and the backup unit in the dark blue van that was trailing them.

After Monday's four-hour meeting with West Palm Homicide detectives and an additional consult just a few hours earlier, Rita was anxious to get this first encounter with Jackson Kincaid over with. The man had a police record dating back to his late teen years spent in San Diego, California, but had managed to avoid any serious offenses since moving to Florida approximately ten years earlier. He appeared to move effortlessly from one scam to another, always finding a new way to make quick money each time his operation was shut down, while never actually providing law enforcement with enough hard evidence to use in a case against him. Detectives and street cops alike claimed he was highly intelligent and very careful about who he included in his schemes, trusting only a handful of like-minded souls to become part of his inner circle. Captain Anderson was convinced that at least two unsolved homicides over the last four years were in some way related to Jackson, but he had been frustrated in any attempts to make the final link. He was hopeful that the evidence gathered over the next few nights would do that for him.

Rita readjusted the shoulder harness across her chest and once again tugged on the hem of her skirt. The soft white suede had ridden up past mid-thigh making it a real struggle to sit comfortably and modestly. She finally gave up and crossed her legs, resting her hands in her lap.

"Having trouble?"

Rita glanced at her partner. He was dressed in black and looking extremely handsome. So handsome, her first instinct was to take him home and hide him away. A Rolex watch, borrowed from the evidence department, glistened on his wrist, and she couldn't help wondering aloud, "Why do I always end up in the micro-mini while you end up expensively casual?" Her earpiece crackled with an immediate response from Captain Lipschitz.

"Lorenzo just doesn't have the legs to get the job done. Stay focused, you two."

"I resent that, Cap," Chris complained. He offered Rita a private smile. Her nearly nonexistent skirt was topped off with a beautifully cut, form-fitting vest made of the same white suede and worn without a blouse. "I missed you last night," he mouthed silently as soon as he caught her eye. He was clearly frustrated at not being able to talk freely. She could feel his glance return time and time again as he drove, but she continued to stare out the window.

"Did you get everything done last night?" he asked quietly, referring to her request to be dropped off at her apartment after work and also her refusal of his offer to lend a hand with her errands. She hadn't come right out and insisted on time alone, but the message had been clear.

Rita nodded briefly in response, knowing there were at least a half dozen pairs of ears listening into what should have been a private conversation. Maybe Chris had been right about it not being a wise move to take on this assignment right now. She could feel the tension in the air and hear the frustration in his voice, but there was nothing that could be done about it at the moment. The entire day had kept them either apart or in meetings with several other officers. There had been no time for more than a minute or two of privacy.

...

Harry Lipschitz was not a happy man. He cast a quick glance around the back of the van and then exhaled slowly. No one else seemed to have picked up on just how stilted the conversation between his detectives had become. He had known these two kids for several years now and found himself agreeing with Chris.

There was definitely something going on with Rita. She tried to keep her comments lighthearted and she laughed at all the right times, but there was an underlying sadness in her voice that she couldn't hide from those who knew her well.

He knew enough about her past history to know that she was no stranger to pain or suffering, but right now should be one of the happiest times of her life. Chris was madly in love with her and there was nothing that man wouldn't do to make her happy.

Dare he step in and talk to her? As her boss, such a confrontation might be considered out of bounds, but the lines that separated all of their personal and professional lives had blurred quite a bit in the last few years.

If her feelings for Chris had changed there would be repercussions for all of them. He found himself overwhelmed with the desire to talk to his wife. He'd make a point of waking her up when he got home. Maybe she could shed a little light on the situation for him. His Frannie was very intuitive regarding matters of the heart.

...

Chris searched for that elusive sense of detachment that the evening was going to require. Driving an impounded, late model Jaguar, he was trapped in the ultimate male fantasy, surrounded by soft, expensive leather and gorgeous, highly polished wood - finer than any furniture he had ever owned - and he was just about as miserable as he could ever remember being.

As he came to a stop in front of the valet parking sign, a young man in a red vest rushed to open his door while another assisted Rita. By the time Chris reached her, she was holding the white suede jacket that completed her outfit. He held it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. "Just remember the rules of the game," he quietly reminded her.

There was no time to wait for an answer. The line at the entrance was short and Chris offered the doorman the business card provided by Captain Anderson. He needn't have bothered. As an attractive, obviously wealthy couple they quickly passed inspection and were waved inside. They paid the cashier, checked Rita's jacket and had their hands stamped before being allowed to enter the main room.

Chris kept a proprietary hand on Rita's back as they paused on the threshold. "Don't leave my side," he reminded her again.

Rita plastered a smile on her face and did a slow, preliminary scan of the crowded room. Two men seated in the far corner were already showing interest in their arrival. "Don't worry," she assured her partner, "we won't get separated." Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on slipping into her role for the evening.

Chris ran his lips over the side of her throat, offering one last reminder, "And don't drink anything."

"Relax. The bartender is on our side."

"I never put my faith in snitches, Sam."

"I'll be careful," she assured him again. The two men across the room were making their way toward the door. She turned to face Chris and ran open palms over the soft wool sweater covering his chest. Her arms slithered around his neck as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "We already have a few interested parties, Chris." Her partner's hands had settled on her hips and he watched her expectantly. "I won't drink anything." Her lips brushed over his as she uttered the promise he was waiting for. "Let's go find a table."

Chris had spotted the two men at the same time as Rita and he allowed her to lead him through a maze of tables, closer to the dance floor. Hopefully, one of the two would be Jackson or at least know of him. They were only a few feet away from an introduction when he decided to change direction. Tugging on Rita's hand, he pulled her past an empty table and out onto the dance floor. She was laughing when his arms wrapped around her waist and he closed the distance between them.

"What did you do that for?" She questioned him with a curious smile. "We were just about to make contact."

Chris continued to lead her with very slow, sensual moves despite the upbeat tempo that had arms and legs flailing all around them. He made sure they were touching, from shoulder to knee, the very picture of a man worshipping his woman as he whispered in her ear, "I don't like the look in the tall one's eyes and I'm not about to make this too easy for him." Rita tried to get a look at the men, but he pulled her even tighter against him, practically making love to her amidst the roomful of strangers.

The two men took seats at the edge of the dance floor, ordering drinks as they openly watched the attractive couple. Chris caught the eye of one, surprised when his stare was returned without hesitation. One subtly raised eyebrow indicated approval. It was all Chris could do to hide his disgust.

"What's wrong?" Rita questioned, tipping her head back in open invitation. She was promptly rewarded with a soft mouth grazing over the pulse points of her throat. The flick of a wet tongue made her shiver.

"They want you," Chris growled softly, unable to hide his irritation from one who knew him so well. "This is a bad idea." He nipped at her earlobe to punctuate his words.

A warm palm cupped his cheek and drew his attention back to her eyes. They were filled with an intense desire that confused him. Was this the same desire that had changed his life from that very first night together, or was this merely a reaction to the dangerous game that had been started here tonight?

"What's going on, Chris?" the Captain demanded, trying to swerve their comments back to a more impersonal tone. "Describe the two suspects."

Chris proceeded to do so, appearing to any onlookers as if he were whispering sweet nothings in his lady love's ear. They received an immediate confirmation on the identity of at least one of the men, and as soon as the song ended, headed back to the tables which had filled up with returning dancers. Unable to find a place to sit, Chris was about to guide Rita towards the bar when one of the two men who had been watching them stood up.

"Excuse me."

Chris kept his expression disinterested as he turned to the tall, muscular man. Long blond hair was slicked back into a fashionable ponytail while a snug black T-shirt was tucked into the man's form-fitting leather pants.

"Would you care to share a table?" the brown-eyed Adonis asked, his appreciative gaze traveling over Rita with barely concealed hunger.

"Nice of you to offer," Chris interrupted without a trace of the anger that was simmering beneath the surface, "but we wouldn't want to intrude."

"Nonsense," their good Samaritan insisted, offering Rita his hand as he introduced himself. "My name is Jackson, and this is Randy." He pointed to the similarly dressed man who remained sitting as he stared at the couple. "As the manager here, I can't allow guests to stand at the bar while there are a few empty seats right here at our best table. He turned to Chris. "Is this your first visit to The Edge, Mr.…?"

"Chris," the detective offered, "and this is my fiancée…."

"Rita," his beautiful partner threw in with a smile that Chris considered much too inviting. Now Jackson's attention was right back where it was bound to irritate him the most. Rita continued to lay out their cover story. "Your club was recommended to us by a very discriminating friend."

"He must be very discriminating if he is a friend of yours," their suspect purred.

Chris struggled to get his emotions under control. He offered what he hoped came across as an understanding smile. Their plan to get Jackson's attention was working a little too well, and easy victories always made him nervous.

"I'd like to hear more about your friend," their host continued, waving a hand toward the table. "Won't you sit down…."

"We'd love to join you," Chris replied, keeping a tight grip on Rita's arm, "but first..."

"Chris?"

His smiled warmed up considerably as he redirected it at Rita. "We came here to dance," he reminded her. Despite her confusion, she trusted him enough to follow and he was grateful. Without a backward glance at their two new acquaintances, he led her back to the dance floor.

"She's perfect," Jackson Kincaid commented as soon as the couple was a safe distance away. His eyes tracked the vision in white suede.

"He isn't bad either." They were the first words spoken by the up-until-now silent Randy. "A worthy addition to any collection, but he seems rather possessive. His gaze followed Jackson's, sizing up the couple with cold, calculating eyes. What do you think? Is it too soon?"

Jackson considered the question for a moment. "Max has someone in the back already, but I can offer these two complimentary passes for Thursday or Friday night. I might be able to come up with something very special for them by then." After a brief pause, he lifted a snifter to his lips. "Make the arrangements," he ordered. The cognac burned its way down without a visible reaction. Randy left to do as he was told and his boss smiled in anticipation.

Her body moved instinctively with the music, but her mind never let go of the task at hand. And although the dance floor was filled with couples, it was never crowded to the point where either she or Chris lost sight of their main suspect for more than a second or two.

"Randy is on the move," she commented as her body kept up with the rhythm of the dance. Chris kissed the side of her face and then turned her in his arms so that she was facing away from him. This allowed her to see what direction Randy was walking in for herself. Strong fingers splayed across her stomach, pressing her lower body against her partner's. She raised her arms to wind them around the back of his head.

Chris stopped nuzzling her neck when Randy slipped through a back door. "He hasn't gone far. Southwest exit off the main room, Cap. Where does it lead?"

Rustling paper could be heard as the Captain answered, "That door leads to the back offices and a stairway to the second floor."

"I've got someone in back to cover the exits," Captain Anderson added. "Is Jackson still within sight?"

"Yes…" Rita's breathy answer was purposely timed to coincide with the movements of Chris' hand which not only skimmed along the soft underside of her raised right arm but around the gentle curve of her breast and all the way down to her thigh. His lips touched a sensitive area of her throat and she smiled, closing her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, she was looking directly at Jackson. Flashing Lights from the dance area lit up his dark eyes with an eerie glow. He was watching their every move and she shivered in spite of herself. Mistaking her response, Jackson's reaction was immediate. She tensed the moment he rose to his feet and started in their direction, but before she could say a word, Chris pulled her around to face him, his hands tightening around her upper arms as his mouth covered hers. She closed her eyes again, parted her lips and sighed in relief, assuming Jackson would not be rude enough to disturb such an intimate scene. She knew the exact moment he turned back to the table because Chris relaxed his grip. For a brief second, she even allowed herself to enjoy the kiss, thanking her partner in a way he was sure to understand, but as soon as the current song finished, it was back to business.

Returning to the table, Rita offered their host a smile as he stood up and pulled out her chair. A murderer with manners would not be an unusual find in either Palm Beach or West Palm.

"Can I order you drinks?" Jackson inquired politely. He waved to a waitress as he spoke and she scurried over immediately. "What would you like?"

Not long after their order was placed, Jackson was approached by one of the club's bouncers. The large, solidly built figure in a dark suit bent over to whisper something to his boss. Jackson stood up.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said, reluctantly. "I need to deal with a personnel problem and it could take a while." He snapped his fingers and held out his palm. The man behind him reached inside a coat pocket and produced two VIP passes. Jackson offered them to Chris. "Please accept these."

"Not necessary," Chris argued, waving aside the unwarranted gift.

"I insist." Jackson's eyes gleamed brightly as he stared at Rita. Sensing Chris' irritation, he assured him, "No strings attached. Company policy allows us to hand them out to first-time visitors. It's a little incentive for you to stop in again."

"Take the damn things," the Captain hissed in Chris' ear.

Chris smiled and nodded to their host. "Thank you. I'm sure we'll be back."

"I'd like to recommend Thursday nights to you," Jackson said, ignoring the impatient bouncer who kept glancing back towards the club's offices.

"Why Thursday?" Rita asked curiously.

Jackson moved closer, using the crowd around them as an excuse to press up against her side. "There is a large group of regulars that shows up each Thursday night around eleven." His eyes strayed to the neckline of her vest as he spoke and he missed the darkening gaze of her companion. "I think you and Chris would fit right in. I'd also like to request a dance," he paused and switched his gaze to Chris, "if your fiancé wouldn't mind."

This was exactly what they had been hoping for. Rita widened her smile as if looking forward to seeing him again. She could sense her partner's struggle for control and his underlying anger. "We'll consider it," she promised their host. As soon as Jackson turned away, she slipped her hand into Chris' and tightened her fingers around his. He returned the squeeze, but any pretense of good humor had left his expression.

"We're going to have to stay a little longer," she reminded him. "He might be back." When her partner remained silent, she nudged him with her shoulder and added, "Dance with me?"

"Absolutely," he muttered, keeping track of the blond ponytail until it disappeared through the same rear door Randy had used. He visibly relaxed.

Abandoning their untouched drinks, Rita headed back to the dance floor with Chris. They had time to kill and wouldn't be leaving until instructed to do so by the Captain. As she slipped back into the familiar embrace, she could no longer ignore the stiffness between them. There was so much she longed to say, so much she longed to explain, but even if she could find the right words, too many ears remained listening. Chris would be the first to remind her about the importance of maintaining their professionalism while working with West Palm. Face pressed against the soft wool of his sweater, right hand resting over his heart, she followed Chris' lead and tried to enjoy the music despite their reasons for being there.

"Jackson just left by car," Captain Anderson informed the couple less than fifteen minutes later.

"We'll be out of here in ten," Chris responded as if talking to Rita.

"Good work you two." Captain Lipschitz sounded pleased. "We'll stay in position until you're clear."

Nine and a half minutes later, Chris and Rita were settled inside the Jaguar, ready to leave West Palm and its busy nightlife behind. An informal debriefing awaited them at the Palm Beach PD.

...

Back at the shop, Harry stood in the doorway of his office, silently watching his detectives. Both looked tired, lacking the adrenaline rush that usually accompanied a successful evening undercover.

One of Captain Anderson's men approached Rita to help her remove her wire, and Harry grimaced as Chris moved quickly to run interference.

"I've got it," Chris assured the officer from West Palm before the man could get anywhere near the white suede waistband of Rita's skirt. For her part, Rita glanced over her shoulder at her partner, and Harry couldn't see her expression, but Chris flushed red as he lifted up the back of the snug white vest and removed the expensive equipment.

Tonight had not been the first time his best homicide team had gone undercover as a couple, but Harry, along with everyone else involved, knew that it might be the last. "Lance… Lorenzo…" he called out gruffly, his face an unreadable mask, "let's get this meeting started sometime soon. We can all use a good night's sleep."

The couple brushed past him as they joined Captain Anderson and his men in the private office. Harry stopped Rita before she could take a seat. "I know you've had a late night tonight, Lance, but I need you back here by nine tomorrow morning. It's the only time Captain Johnson has free to meet with you."

Chris wasted no time in speaking up. "Cap….."

"Can it, Lorenzo…"

Rita nodded towards her boss; exhaustion clearly etched in the dark circles under her eyes. "I'll be in by nine," she promised, dropping into one of the two remaining empty seats.

Chris sat down next to her, leaning closer to whisper, "You shouldn't have to baby-sit Bob, Sam. By the time we get out of here and get home, you won't be able to get more than a couple hours sleep."

"Okay ladies and gentlemen, let's go over what we learned tonight," Harry called the informal meeting to order, hoping to forestall any further discussion on tomorrow's agenda. They had a lot of ground to cover while the experience was still fresh in their minds and he was already late getting home to his wife.

* * *

It was just past noon when Chris strode into the Homicide Division of the PBPD. The first thing he noticed about the bustling room was that his partner was nowhere to be seen. The second thing he noticed was that the Captain's door was closed, as were his blinds. "You have to come out sometime," he mumbled on the way to his desk. Dropping into his chair, he grabbed for the phone and punched in the extension for dispatch. "This is Sergeant Lorenzo. Can you tell me if Sergeant Lance has returned from her appointment this morning?"

"I'm sorry, Sergeant. We still show her on special duty with Captain Johnson."

"Thanks," he muttered, tossing the receiver back onto its cradle. He opened the top drawer of his desk and searched for any stray aspirin that may have fallen to the bottom.

Fellow detectives passed by his desk but after one look at their colleague's face, swallowed their greetings and moved on without comment.

Could his day get any worse, Chris wondered? Sleeping alone, or trying to sleep alone after finally getting home at two in the morning hadn't helped his already foul mood. Rita's decision to once again go home to her own apartment alone had been the final straw. She claimed it was the sensible thing to do because she had to return to work hours before he did, but he knew better. That was just another in a long list of excuses to keep him at a distance. She might not be ready to talk yet, but he sure was.

Unless…. he stopped himself before the thought could be completed. To even let the words pass through his conscious mind hinted at something he had successfully avoided thinking about for days.

He gave up his search and slammed the desk drawer shut. There was no shortage of work to be done before their return undercover on Thursday, and half the day was gone already. Why wasn't she back yet?

"Any word from Lance yet?"

Chris looked up at the sound of the Captain's voice. "No," he answered shortly, wondering why he hadn't heard his boss' door open. He turned back to his desk and shuffled a few papers around.

Harry frowned, unhappy with the curt response, and tried again, "I thought I'd let you know that Frannie is stopping by to join me for lunch. She was hoping to have a word with you while she's here." Hands on his hips, growing impatient with the continuing silence, Harry finally snapped. "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Chris?"

"No."

The Captain placed both hands on Chris' desktop, leaning forward slightly as he spoke. "You know, Chris, there are many reasons why the department doesn't approve of partners becoming involved in personal relationships." He paused until Chris looked up again. "I think we just stumbled on to an important one."

There was no way Chris was going to get involved in this type of conversation with his boss or his boss' wife. Nothing good could come of it, plus, the dull throbbing in his head was turning into a steady roar, similar to a jackhammer's relentless assault on a concrete sidewalk. "I'm sure you're right, Cap," he muttered hoping that would satisfy the man and send him back to his office.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Harry snapped.

"Huh?" Chris squinted, wishing the Captain would turn the volume down a few notches.

"I give up!" the older man muttered before turning and stalking back to his office.

The Captain appeared to be angry for some reason, but Chris pushed the thought aside, choosing instead to worry about a more pressing problem. After all, how long could a tour of Palm Beach's training facilities possibly take? The familiar swoosh of the doors had him glancing up hopefully, but his face quickly fell. George Donovan was closing in fast.

"Chris!"

"Yeah, George..." He tried to look interested.

"I just got a call from Daniel Garrett." The Assistant District Attorney glanced around the homicide department. "Where's Rita?"

"She's not here."

George threw him an indignant look. "I figured that out, Lorenzo. When is she due back?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. She's playing tour guide for San Diego's golden boy."

"Tell me how you really feel," George laughed. "But seriously, I just got a call from Daniel Garrett and he wants you to meet him at the Coastal Savings Bank on Spring Street. While going through his wife's effects he found the key to safety deposit box he had forgotten about. He's insisting that you'll want to see what he's found."

"Wouldn't that box be automatically frozen on the event of her death."

"Like I've said in the past, Daniel Garrett has pull in this state. I was hoping you and Lance could get down there and see what he's got."

Chris stood up, glad for an opportunity to get out of the building. "No problem, George. I'll get right on it." Without a backward glance, he headed for the doors and freedom. Maybe a little fresh air would clear the cobwebs away and allow him to think about something other than Rita spending the morning with 'Bob'. At the very least it would prevent him from sitting around, counting the minutes until her return and worrying about what the visiting Captain's real motives were. Bob was probably sweet-talking her right now, trying to tempt her away with promises of a quick promotion or a little side trip to a sunny Mexican resort.

Halfway down the winding corridor that led to the main lobby, Chris spotted trouble barreling towards him at a determined speed. Trouble in this instance was just over five feet tall and answered to the name of Lipschitz. Fran Lipschitz. He glanced around desperately, but there was no place to hide and not enough time to reverse direction.

"Christopher!" Frannie called out just in case he hadn't noticed her already. "Just the man I needed to talk to."

"Hi, Fran," Chris returned the greeting, his hasty but polite excuse spilling quickly over his lips, "I was just on my way out. We'll have to talk later."

Fran took hold of his coat sleeve when he tried to get past her. "This can't wait, Chris."

"I'm sorry, Fran, but it will have to. I'm on my way to a very important meeting... it's police business." His voice had taken on a pleading quality, but the diminutive woman continued to stare up at him with an intensity that made him reconsider. "Five minutes, Fran. I can't spare any more than five minutes."

Fran pointed toward one of the interrogation rooms, "Can we talk in there?"

"Sure."

Once seated across the table from him, Frannie didn't waste any time. "Harry mentioned that there might be a problem between you and Rita..."

"Fran..." Chris tried to stop her before the conversation went down a road he was too weary to travel at the moment.

"Hear me out, hon." Fran placed a hand over his. "Harry said you've been really worried. I don't want you to think that he was gossiping about you and Rita, but you know how fond he is of the two of you."

Chris went very still. Broken relationships littered his past like shells along the endless Florida seashore. He was no stranger the ups and downs of intimate relationships, but nothing in all those years of dating had ever prepared him for what he feared was happening between him and Rita right now.

"Are you sure you aren't imagining things, Chris?" Frannie bit her upper lip. The bleakness of his gaze was answer enough. "I've been thinking about your situation and I may have part of the answer for you."

He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair. Fran Lipschitz was the closest thing to family both he and Rita had here in Palm Beach. Undoubtedly, her motives were as good as gold, but it was unlikely that she could help him. After all, who was he trying to fool? The clues were piling up faster than he could discount them and toss them aside. The truth was becoming painfully obvious - Rita had changed her mind. Maybe deep down inside he had always been afraid of this happening. Her acceptance of his marriage proposal had been too quick - too confident and certain - without any of the doubts and second-guessing that he had expected from her at the time.

"Sweetheart, I'm running out of time." Fran snapped her fingers in front of Chris' face, startling him out of his thoughts. "I know you're planning a small get together for Rita's birthday the weekend after next."

"Yes." Chris sat up straighter. The small dinner party at a seaside hotel was supposed to be a surprise, but right now a surprise didn't sound like such a wise idea. He probably should have run the idea by his partner before making the reservations. Unwelcome jealousy burned in his gut. It had not occurred to him before now that she might not be free on the Saturday before her birthday.

"It's a wonderful idea, Chris," Fran patted his hands, trying to bring him back again, "but there is something else you can do for Rita and yourself. Something very important."

Chris dropped his eyes and stared at small hands framing his white-knuckled fists. Gently lined with age, they were the strong, comforting hands belonging to a woman born to mother, whether she had any biological children of her own or not. "What, Fran?"

Instead of answering his question, Frannie seemed to change the subject. "How much do you know about Rita's parents?"

"Not a whole lot. The Lances died in a car accident a few years before I met Rita."

"Not the Lances. I'm talking about her real parents."

"The Fontanas? Even less, I guess. The subject hasn't come up too often, although I do know a little bit about her father, Donald Fontana."

"And her mother?"

"I don't even know her name. She died not long after Rita was born."

"I think you should find out."

"Why?"

"Find out her mother's name, birth date, and date of death." Fran held up a hand to silence him. "This is much more important than you can ever imagine, Christopher. Losing a mother is very difficult for a young girl."

He could accept that, but her sense of urgency still mystified him. "From the conversations Rita and I have had in the past about her family, I was under the impression Rita was a baby when it happened and too young to remember her. Most of her memories are of her father," Chris explained, "and of the Lances. What does any of this have to do with her changing her mind?"

Frannie gasped, laying a hand dramatically over her heart. "What did she change her mind about?"

Panicked that the forbidden words could slip out so easily, Chris backpedaled immediately, "Nothing, Fran. Please - just forget I even said that. She hasn't said anything about changing her mind. I swear." Hand over his own heart, shattered blue eyes pleaded with her to drop the subject. He glanced at his watch. "I really have to go, Fran."

"Okay, sweetheart," Frannie stood up and waited for him to do the same, "but promise me you'll talk to Rita about her family before jumping to any crazy conclusions." She allowed herself to be led to the doorway and paused on the threshold. "Rita had the Lances," she informed him, "and I had my Aunt Ida, but foster parents and relatives can only do so much. There were many times in my life when I would have given the world to have my mother by my side just one more time."

The catch in Frannie's voice stopped him in his tracks. Late for his appointment or not, there was something here worth trying to understand. "Could she be thinking about her mother?"

"I don't know," Frannie confessed, "but I do remember thinking a lot about my mother before Harry and I tied the knot. I used to dream about sitting down and having a long talk with her. Even back then, I could barely remember what she looked like because she died when I was four, but I wanted her with me on my wedding day. I'd like to think that she would have been proud and that she would have loved my Harry." She smiled as Chris laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He was quite a catch back then, you know."

Chris couldn't help grinning. "I know, Fran." He bent down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

Fran flushed and repositioned her purse strap on her arm. "I'd better go pick up my lunch date. He's probably growling like a bear already." Before leaving she placed a hand on Chris' forearm and looked him square in the eye. "You two were meant to be together, Chris, and she loves you more than anything. Promise me you won't forget that."

"I promise." Before the words were out of his mouth, Fran Lipschitz was on the move again, rushing towards the homicide division and lunch with her main squeeze. She had left him with a lot to think about as he rushed to the parking lot, already late for his meeting at the bank.

* * *

Patience was a virtue Chris Lorenzo had no interest in acquiring. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped one towel around his hips and used another to dry his hair. Ten minutes under a stinging hot spray had helped to clear his muddled thoughts and he knew what had to be done in order to preserve his own sanity. It was time to go get his partner, sit her down somewhere private and get this whole mess out in the open. Otherwise, going into that club tomorrow night was going to be a disaster.

He knew just where to find her, too. Johnson's hotel. His stomach churned at the thought. Sure, Captain Lipschitz was with her at the thank-you dinner that "Bob" was giving. And sure, he could have been there himself if he had been willing to accept the visiting Captain's invitation, but that wasn't the point. Johnson's four hour guided tour had turned into a full day of chaperoning for Rita, which meant that she had not been able to return to the station until after her partner had left for home. The videotapes found in the Garrett's safety deposit box were a huge break in the case. She should have been there at the bank with him.

Chris draped the extra towel over his shoulders and switched on the bedside radio. Maybe music would help the loft seem a little less lonely. He stood in front of the open closet, unsure of himself for the first time in years. It wasn't as if he blamed Captain Johnson for the strain between himself and Rita, but the Captain's visit had come at a very inopportune time, and Cap's willingness to assign Rita to the public relations duty didn't help either. Logical or not, it smacked of betrayal.

He took a second look at the khaki pants he had been about to select. His light blue jacket was hanging right next to them. Throw in a fresh turtleneck or polo shirt and it all added up to a completely appropriate outfit for a nice downtown restaurant.

"Not this time." Appropriate was not the right word to describe the mood he was in. He searched a little further into the closet and finally found what he was looking for. Sliding the mirrored door shut, he took a look at himself and ran an exploratory hand over his clenched jaw. He'd forgo the shave this time. The evening was slipping away and he didn't plan on ending it alone.

* * *

The punch line had to be coming soon, Rita decided. Captain Lipschitz had kept the conversation lively over appetizers and the main course, but she couldn't help wishing he was ready to call it a night. When it finally did come, Cap handled it in typically dramatic fashion, delivering his big line with the expertise of a man born to be on stage. She did her duty and laughed, knowing he would look her way to make sure she got the joke. Hopefully, her response didn't sound as forced to the others as it did to her own ears.

The waiter arrived at that moment, offering a mouthwatering selection of desserts. Rita listened with interest to the description of each specialty but declined when it was her turn to order.

"Just coffee." Her words seemed to disappoint the man, but maintaining a polite front was becoming increasingly difficult. She was tired and disappointed. Tired because she had only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before and disappointed because Chris had turned down an invitation to join their small group for dinner. There had been so many misunderstandings between them lately and she didn't want this to turn into another one, but Bob had been determined to introduce her to his new wife and to thank both her and the Captain for all of their help. She had tried to convince Chris to attend but he had cut their phone conversation short, probably still upset because she had been tied up all day. So here she was, the odd man out with the Lipschitz' and the Johnsons. To make matters even more uncomfortable, Frannie had been staring at her strangely all evening. Thirty minutes more, she promised herself, and then she was out of there, no matter what anyone said.

"Sweetheart?" Frannie scooted over into the empty chair next to Rita. "Are you okay?"

Rita dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin before looking up to meet Frannie's inquiring gaze. Green eyes narrowed curiously. There was something about the way Frannie was watching her - as if the woman could read all of her secrets by looking directly into her soul. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Rita smiled a bit nervously and dipped her head to one side. "I'm fine, Fran."

Harry picked up on the strange vibes across the table. He tried to catch his wife's eye so he could order her back to her own chair, but she was purposely ignoring him.

"Are you sure, doll?" Frannie laid a hand on Rita's arm. "You seem a bit down."

"She had a late night at work last night," Harry called out, obviously under the mistaken impression that he could stop his wife from interfering in her dear friends' lives. "Come back over here, Fran, and tell Captain Johnson about the time we went swing dancing in South Miami."

"In a minute, Harry," Fran waved him away. "Let's go powder our noses," she urged Rita, standing up before turning to Captain Johnson's new wife. "You'll excuse us for a minute, won't you?"

"I'll join you," Anne Johnson responded with a friendly smile.

Fran struggled to hide her disappointment while Rita gave a sigh of relief. All three women headed off in the direction of the women's restroom.

...

Chris swung the driver's side door closed and shoved his keys deep into the front pocket of his jeans. The pale blue cotton, softened by age and worn out in a dozen different places, clung to his lower body like a second skin. He took a deep, bracing breath, exhaling a small burst of condensation into the cold night air before turning up the collar of his flight jacket and crossing the lot to the hotel entrance. Hand on the door, he paused on the threshold.

Was he about to make another mistake? Rita was not a woman to be bullied. She was more than capable of standing her ground against murderers, drug dealers, and even her own partner on occasion. Demanding an explanation from her tonight might do nothing more than exacerbate the problem. Maybe it was best to leave well enough alone. It wasn't as if she had come right out and given the ring back.

Maybe he should call her from his cell phone and ask her to meet him at the loft instead. Chris turned, ready to leave, but stopped himself again. The memory of their last night spent together still haunted his thoughts. Her restless sleep - the unexplained sadness she was determined to keep from him. Slowly but surely, something was eating away at her peace of mind, tearing her down while building a wall between them. If she wasn't strong enough to deal with it by herself, then he would remind her that she was no longer alone.

And if the awful truth was….

Both hands tightened into fists. Dammit! He wasn't about to play the martyr for love. Not with Rita. If she had fallen out of love with him, then he was damn well going to make her fall back into it! They had been together too long, had come too far for him to set aside his feelings and watch her walk off with another man. She belonged to him - with him …. She was a part of him like no other woman ever could be.

He shoved open the door and strode into the five-star hotel to get his fiancée.

* * *

Frannie was good - very good - but Rita had paid close attention during tactical maneuvering seminars. By keeping Anne at her side, she had avoided any and all attempts by Fran to engage her in a private conversation. She felt a little guilty treating a close friend in such a manner, but it was a level of guilt she could live with. Exhaustion had weakened her defenses, and this was not the time to play twenty questions with anyone.

"Did Rita mention that she's getting married also, Anne?"

Frannie's voice echoed in the large tiled bathroom, and Rita's hands froze under the running water.

"I did notice the beautiful ring." Anne's soft southern drawl rose up from a closed stall. "Congratulations, Rita," she added. "When is the big day?"

Rita looked up into the mirror and frowned at the reflection next to hers. Fran was slowly re-applying her lipstick and met her eye with a mischievous twinkle.

"We haven't set a date yet."

Anne came out of the stall and headed for the sink. The Texas native was barely twenty-one, making her two decades younger than her husband and anxious to please. "I love weddings," she informed everyone. "Bob wanted something quiet with just his family and mine, but my parents wouldn't hear of it. They flew out from Austin just to help me convince him."

"And did you?" Fran quizzed the tall leggy blonde.

"Of course." The accompanying laugh came out sounding more like a giggle. "My mother had the dress designed back home by one of the foremost makers of wedding dresses in the state. We flew all of Bob's family to Texas and on my wedding day, Daddy gave me away in front of five hundred guests."

Fran raised her eyebrows and threw Rita an amused look. "I take it, 'Daddy' likes Captain Bob."

"Yes, he sure does. But enough about me. What type of wedding are you planning, Rita?" Anne gave her long blonde hair one final pat and joined the two older women in the lounge area of the restroom.

Flustered and on the spot, Rita could feel Fran's steady, but curious gaze as she too waited for an answer to the young woman's question.

"I should explain that my fiancé is also my partner at work."

"You're marrying an officer of the law? We have something in common." Anne glanced at Frannie and her eyes lit up. "We all have something in common. No wonder we get along so well."

"I was just thinking the same thing," Fran chimed in, offering Anne a bright smile. "We'd better get back to our table."

Rita threw her a grateful look and followed behind the two women.

"Oh, my…" Anne hissed, a touch breathless.

"What's wrong?" Rita was positioned at the rear of the small group and didn't have a clear view.

"Company came a-callin' while we were gone," was the appreciative response.

Fran made a choking sound, drawing a concerned pat on the back from Rita.

As they closed in on their table, Fran took hold of Anne's arm and pulled her to the side, allowing Rita to move ahead. The slight maneuver took no more than a split second and after shooting Fran a curious stare, Rita turned her focus back to where she was supposed to be going, easily spotting the new arrival at their table. He stood out amongst the white linen tablecloths and more formally dressed patrons. Her instinctive response was the same as Anne's, she just knew how to hide it better.

He stood with his back to the returning group, and without even seeing his face, she could sense his anger. Maybe it was the way he stood with his hands in his back pockets, or maybe it was the way he impatiently shifted his stance on the balls of his feet. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't his clothing - although there was a hint of rebellion in his choices. He had dressed for comfort in form-fitting jeans, and a brown leather flight jacket that she hadn't seen in years. Why had he worn it tonight? Weathered and scarred, she could remember the feel and scent of the jacket as clearly as if she were holding it in her arms. What was he thinking?

Chris turned as she reached the table and she was half afraid that she had spoken the question out loud. Piercing blue eyes caught her gaze and refused to let go. Something inside of her, that inner ball of worry and dread, tightened painfully under his watchful stare. She turned away, but strong fingers reached out to take hold of her chin and bring her back.

In the background, outside of either Chris or Rita's awareness, Frannie had moved closer to her husband. Her silent request for information was met with a shrug of the Captain's shoulders.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Anne inquired of her new husband.

"Certainly, Sweetheart." Bob cleared his throat, "Anne, this is Sergeant Chris Lorenzo. Rita's partner. Chris, this is my wife, Anne."

Chris glanced up at Bob and then Anne who was holding out her hand expectantly. "Wife?" He went through the motions as if in a daze. "How long have you been married?" Rita started to move back to her chair, but his arm shot out to keep her by his side.

"It's been about a month," Bob responded.

"Twenty-seven days," his wife corrected. "I hear you are about to tie the knot yourself, Sergeant Lorenzo. Nervous?" Anne smiled sweetly as she checked Chris out from head to toe. Her eyes lingered on his bright white T-shirt where it clung to his chest under the unzipped portion of his jacket

Rita raised an eyebrow as a frowning Bob pulled out his wife's chair and forced her down into it.

"I'm not nervous at all," she heard Chris reply. His rough chin grazed across her cheek and he placed a quick, possessive kiss on her mouth. "In fact," he added, smiling into her eyes, daring her to contradict him, "I'm here to collect my fiancée. I hope you can excuse us. We have someplace we need to be."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she wasn't about to complain. Despite all the recent fears and anxieties, she didn't want to spend any more time apart.

* * *

Chris glanced over at the passenger seat. Rita hadn't said much after leaving the hotel, but at least she didn't appear to be angry with him. That was a start.

"Where exactly are we supposed to be?"

Her question startled him. His eyes returned to the road. "What do you mean?"

"Back at the restaurant," she explained quietly, hands clasped in her lap, "you said something about us needing to be somewhere."

"I meant alone. I hope you don't mind." He hated the nervous, hesitant quality of his own voice. This was Rita he was talking to. His best friend, his lover, the woman he intended to marry very soon.

"Not at all."

Stopped at a red light, he shot her another glance. "Good."

"So…."

"So?" He had somehow lost his place in the conversation again.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh. Back to my place. Unless…."

"Your place is fine."

"Good."

"I like the jacket."

"You do?" His traitorous body was already straining against taut denim.

"Yes."

Hoping to somehow reconnect with her on a deeper level, his right hand snaked out to capture her left. Gentle fingers closed around his, guiding them up to her lips. Her mouth slid across the roughened skin of his knuckles. A smooth thumb stroked his palm. The love he felt for this special woman was nearly overwhelming at times and with each touch of her lips, and each rub of her cheek, it burned hotter and sweeter. He was more determined than ever to put right whatever had gone wrong.

When they finally arrived at his apartment complex, Chris pulled into his space under the carport, shifted the car into park and switched off the headlights, plunging them into darkness. Impatient, lonely, and still a little afraid of what was going on in his partner's head, he had to break the silence between them. "Sam…."

The cherished nickname reverberated between them. Three small letters chained together by solid links of loyalty, friendship, and love - stronger than any steel, yet fragile as the human heart.

A lone finger was placed over his lips. "Shhh…"

Paralyzed by her touch, he said nothing more but continued to watch her with shattering intensity. A faint glimmer of light from a nearby streetlight shone in her eyes as she closed in on him.

"We will talk," she whispered, "but first…."

She framed his face with her hands and before he knew it, her mouth was on his. He groaned, encircling her slender waist with his arms and pulling her out of her seat and onto his lap. It was a snug fit and his eyes closed as she deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Chris knew the warm body in his arms almost as well as he knew his own. He knew her taste, her scent. He knew the way her toes secretly curled into the carpet whenever he surprised her with a kiss in the middle of the living room, the way she'd sigh in pleasure when he touched that one certain spot on the small of her back, and even the way her right elbow ached after a vigorous game of tennis. Holding her like this - making love to her - was as important as breathing, but it was what he didn't know that continued to worry him.

She must have sensed his hesitation because she broke away from the kiss to stare into his eyes.

"We should go inside," she murmured.

He forced himself to look up from her damp mouth.

"Yeah," he admitted in a faint whisper, wondering how he was ever going to let her go, even for the few short minutes it would take to reach the door to his apartment. She was currently nestled on his groin, with those achingly beautiful legs of hers stretched out across the passenger seat. He ran a hand down their length before trailing back up and under the hem of her skirt. Her sharp intake of breath hardened him even further.

He brought her mouth back to his, making a soft strangled sound when her tongue caressed his lower lip. Unfortunately, somewhere in the middle of the erotic haze he was slowly sinking into, there was a brief moment of clarity, and he knew that they couldn't continue where they were. Gently but firmly taking hold of her upper arms, he found the strength to push her away.

"Let's go inside." His breathing was ragged, his voice hoarse but determined.

Rita was silent a moment, trying to read his thoughts. "You're right," she finally agreed, scooting back over to her own side of the front seat. She ran an unsteady hand over her hair and then straightened her skirt. By the time Chris opened the passenger side door for her, she was back in control. Neither one said a word until Chris was closing the apartment door behind them.

"Chris, I…."

"Coffee?"

Flustered, Rita shook her head and dropped her hands to her side.

"Why don't we sit and talk," Chris suggested. As soon as she nodded, he slipped out of his jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He joined her on the couch, sitting sideways so he could face her, with one arm resting along the back cushion. There was so much to talk about, finding a starting place was not easy. "Look, Rita…."

"Wait," She interrupted, "Before you say anything, let me try to explain something." She paused and then continued as soon as he nodded towards her, "I know that I've been a little short with you lately…."

Chris watched his fiancée closely. She appeared calm on the surface, but as she nervously worked her engagement ring in circles, her hands told another story. "It's okay," he assured her, pulling her right hand away with his left. He laced their fingers together and forced her to relax her grip.

"No, it isn't. I would never intentionally hurt you, Chris."

God help him, he was going to be physically ill if this conversation continued on in the direction it appeared to be going. He turned her hand over, focusing on the satiny softness of her palm. Everything had been okay a few minutes ago in the car - he would have sworn to it. She had kissed him like she meant it. Unless it had been a kiss goodbye….

Angry, he let go of her hand, severing the connection between them as he stood up. "This is ridiculous, Sam." He glared down at her. "You cannot fall out of love with me. I won't allow it."

She was obviously startled by the direct approach, but he barely allowed her enough time to blurt out a strangled, "What?" before continuing on as if he hadn't heard.

"If there is a problem between us, why haven't you come to me with it? We've always been able to talk things out in the past." Her eyes had widened as she watched him vent, but she hadn't bothered to contradict him yet and that scared him even more. It also forced him to let go of his anger, which had been a stupid approach to begin with. He held out his hand, and when she accepted it, he pulled her up, drawing her into his arms as if bringing home the missing half of his soul. "We can get through this, Sam," he promised. "Whatever went wrong, tell me what it was, and I'll make it right again."

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he realized she was crying. There were no gut-wrenching sobs, just silent tears that rolled down her cheeks to land softly on his shoulder, dampening his T-shirt. He pulled back and touched the side of her face. "You are everything to me, Sam."

She took a step away and used the back of her hands to dry her eyes. When she raised her chin and stared at him through damp lashes, a spark of fire had returned to the clear green depths and he knew she was ready to talk. Swallowing his dread, he sat back down on the couch.

"Will you let me get a word in now," she asked with the barest hint of a smile.

"Sure…." He stared up at her with what he hoped was a calm expression.

Rita took a deep breath and swept the hair back from her face in a self-conscious gesture. The last twenty-four hours had topped off a week she hoped to never have to repeat. She was drained, both physically and emotionally.

"First of all," she began slowly, not wanting to make the same mistake she had made in her earlier attempt at conversation. "I love you…heart and soul." She purposely quoted his own words, hoping they would prove how serious she was." She could see the tension leave his body. His eyes - those deep blue, gorgeous eyes - began to lose their haunted look. She continued before guilt disturbed her train of thought. "I'm sorry that I haven't been able to come to you lately and explain how I feel. I want you to know that the problem has never been you. The problem was, and is me."

"Maybe I could have helped if you had given me a chance."

"I couldn't ask for help yet. I knew you would help me if you could, you always have, but how could I come to you while I was so confused?"

"And now?" he asked.

She sat down on the couch next to him, and a comforting arm closed around her shoulders. She snuggled closer, trying to absorb his strength. "I'm still struggling," she admitted reluctantly. "It's as if time is running out and I'm not prepared."

"Time for what?"

"I don't know."

"You have a birthday coming up. Could that be bothering you?"

"That would be ridiculous. Birthdays have never bothered me. I feel fine about it."

Chris became very still. "Maybe knowing you have a wedding to plan has put too much stress on you. We could postpone it for a few more months."

Rita glanced at him in surprise. "Is that what you want?"

"This isn't about what I want. This is about your heavy workload and your health."

She considered the thought but dismissed it easily. "No."

"No?"

"I want the wedding to take place as scheduled." His smile grew a little wider as she spoke. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she curled into his side, wishing she could hide there forever.

"Can I ask you something?"

Tipping her head back, she smiled. "What?"

"How old were you when your mother died?"

Rita had a sudden vision of her father's face, twisted and distorted in pain. As early as five or six years old, she had known that she was different from all her friends. Each of them had a mother waiting for them at home. She shook off the thought. "Less than a year old. Why?"

"Frannie said I should ask you. She seems to think it's important."

Rita pulled out of arms and stared at her partner incredulously. "You talked to Frannie about me?"

"No," Chris blustered, sitting up a little straighter, "she caught me in the hallway earlier today."

"And asked you about my mother? Try again, Lorenzo."

"Sam…." He dipped his head and looked at her in a way she hadn't yet discovered how to resist.

"Why would you need to know how old I was when my mother died?"

"Actually, Sam, I think I was supposed to ask how old your mother was when she died."

"Oh."

"Did you know that Fran lost her mother at a young age also?"

"No, I don't think the subject has ever come up." Rita frowned, trying to figure out what could have prompted Fran to ask these questions. The Captain's wife had been a good friend to her and Chris over the last few years and had obviously been anxious to speak to her earlier in the evening. Was this what she wanted to talk about?

Chris resettled himself on the couch and pulled her back into his arms. He played with a strand of her hair, distracting her as he spoke softly against the side of her face. "Fran started me thinking that there a few things we've never really talked about. I know a little bit about your father but you've always avoided the subject of your mother, and I don't even know her name."

Rita dipped her head forward and the mouth that had been tickling her ear began nibbling on the side of her throat.

"My mother's name was Alexandra," she murmured, pausing for a moment as the hair on the back of her neck was lifted, and warm breath blew across the nape of her neck.

"She must have been very beautiful," Chris murmured. "Do you look a lot like her?"

"I wish I could remember."

Chris stopped what he was doing. "What are you saying? You must have old pictures."

"I was only seven when my father lost all his money and we had to move into a small one-room apartment. There was a wedding photo that he kept on his dresser, and I remember thinking that my mother looked like a princess, but over the years the memory has faded. After he died, I was immediately put into foster care with only a small suitcase of belongings. Everything else was probably sold to pay old debts."

"What about his personal effects - family records and photos, your birth certificate?"

"At the time, I was still in shock and too young to worry about such things anyway. If he did leave me anything, it was probably lost somewhere in the system. When I was finally settled for good with the Lances, they were given a copy of my birth certificate and whatever school records that were available, but it wasn't much."

"They should have filed a complaint on your behalf. You had already lost your mother and father - how could this have happened?" Chris took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm, asking in a much quieter voice, "Did you ever try and research your parent's history?"

His outraged expression brought a smile to her face. Her biggest defender appeared anxious to slay all the dragons of her past, not knowing that those same dragons had been put to sleep a long, long time ago. Nonetheless, after a lifetime of self-sufficiency, it felt wonderful to know he was there for her to lean on. "When I was about fifteen," she began quietly, "I begged my foster mother to try and find information about my real parents. It's difficult enough to get through those teenage years, but somehow I had become convinced that there was a big mystery in my past and that my real parents were out there frantically searching for me."

"I've seen pictures of you at that age. I bet you were a real handful."

"I'm sure I was."

Chris placed a soft kiss on the side of her jaw, and then whispered in her ear, "And already beautiful."

Rita laughed. "I was bossy with a real flair for the dramatic."

"So… not much has changed?" He grabbed her hand before she could land the punch solidly in his stomach. He tried to swallow his smile but was only partially successful. "Were the Lances able to find out any information for you?"

Rita became very still in his arms. The legacy of a difficult childhood was something they both shared, although their journeys to adulthood had taken them down vastly different roads, and Chris, more than anyone else she knew, would be able to understand how confusing and also how inescapable, the past could be.

"Sam?"

His voice brought her attention back to the question. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his chest, "I was just thinking back to a conversation Mom and I had. I remember her disappearing into her bedroom closet and coming back out with an old brown file that had been kept in there for years. She sat me down at the kitchen table and we went through that file, page by page because she wanted me to know that nothing would ever be kept secret between us."

"She must have been a wonderful person."

"She was. They both were. Tom and Sue Lance treated me as if I were their own child, trying to always be there when I needed them, but I had to learn a few hard truths on that day in particular. My dreams about someday finding my real parents had fueled the usual teenage rebellion into a drama of epic proportions. What if my mother wasn't actually dead? What if she had been kidnapped or had run away and was still out there trying to find me? I had the same thoughts about my father even though I had been the one to find his body. It was easier to think of him working undercover for the government, unable to contact me than to accept the fact that he had left me alone by choice. I was so young when everything happened, it was easy to reshape the facts until they fit my fantasies.

"And yet, on many levels, you were just a normal fifteen-year-old."

"About as much as you were. I'll bet you felt it too. All those other kids in school had something you didn't. You've told me what it was like for you before you moved in with your grandmother. How could you not feel like you stood apart from the crowd?"

"Yes…." Chris' eyes clouded over with bittersweet memories. "It took me a few years to realize that most people's mothers didn't leave home for weeks at a time to do location shooting. Even in elementary school, all the other kids made sure I knew just how lucky I was. To them, I was the son of a famous movie star, but all I really wanted out of life was to go home at three o'clock each afternoon, just like they did and have my mother waiting there for me. It wasn't until I moved in with my grandmother that anyone showed a real interest in how my day went. With my parents, it was always about them - what they were doing, and who they had met with that day." Chris stopped himself as soon as he realized he was rambling. They weren't talking about his past right now. He cleared his throat. "Yes," he repeated, "I understand what you're saying. How well did you handle the truth at the tender age of fifteen?"

"About as well as could be expected. Social workers had searched for relatives after my father's death, but neither of my parents had any brothers or sisters and my grandparents had died before I was born. Learning that there was no one out there trying to find me was a blow to my self-esteem, but it also made me realize that I had to stop trying to find my identity in the past."

"That was a lot to deal with at fifteen. I'm surprised you didn't rebel."

"I did, but in my own unique way. From that day that forward I swore to make the Lances proud of me. I was determined to make something of my life - and I was in a real hurry to do it, too. Maybe I sensed that they would be taken away too soon."

Chris rested his chin on her shoulder and rubbed her arms affectionately. "They must have been very proud when you graduated from the academy at the top of your class."

She nodded slowly and laid a hand over his on her arm. "Yeah…. I think they were." But why, she couldn't help wondering, were so many happy memories shadowed by loss?

"Which brings us back to…."

"What?" Rita shook off the sad thoughts, determined to focus on the future.

"How old was your mother when she died? Were you able to find out?"

"Of course." Obviously, the future was going to have to wait until Chris had satisfied his curiosity. "There are death certificates on file for both of my parents. Alexandra Fontana was thirty-three when she died of breast cancer."

"I always assumed she died right after you were born."

"An assumption I used to share when I was very young, but after seeing my file I knew she had lived until I was about six months old. I became curious about her again after starting the Policy Academy so I approached one of my instructors about obtaining a copy of the police report on my father's suicide. I looked up a woman whose name was listed as a neighbor at the time. She had lived in the apartment next door to ours. She remembered one evening in particular, when my father had gone out to hit up an old friend for a job, and she had come over to sit with me for a few hours. He didn't get the job, but when he returned, they shared their life stories over a few drinks. Based on what she could recall from that conversation, my mother's health took a downward turn not long after I was born. My father blamed her failing energy on the difficult birth and was upset by her determination to nurse me even though the doctors pushed bottle feeding at the time. For reasons he was never able to understand, she never told anyone how much pain she was in and by the time he figured it out, it was already too late and the cancer had spread. The neighbor felt he was still carrying around a lot of guilt."

Chris was feeling no small measure of guilt himself. After thousands of hours spent together as both friends and lovers, how had this conversation escaped them for so long? Frannie, God love her, had been right on target. "And you?"

"This is all ancient history, Sam, and I made up my mind a long time ago to let it all rest. I was a baby. There was nothing I could have done to change the actions of two adults."

"Thirty-three. She was the same age you are now, but as of next week…"

Rita shook her head slightly and stared at the ceiling as she asked, "What does that have to do with anything? I told you, I was just a baby…"

His voice was a faint whisper as he pointed out what had suddenly become obvious to both of them, "As of next week you will have lived longer than your mother did."

She turned to look him in the eye. "The words breast cancer made a big impression on me, even at fifteen, Chris. I scheduled my first mammogram the week I turned twenty-one, and I've been going back once a year ever since. I'm careful about what I eat, I don't smoke… I've done everything I possibly could to make sure I don't share her fate. Why shouldn't I live longer?" Uncomfortable with the topic and her sudden anger with a woman whose face she could not even remember, Rita rose from the couch and headed for the kitchen area.

Chris was already following her, and by the time he planted himself on a bar stool, she had a pitcher of juice in her hand and was filling two glasses.

"Have you been thinking about her lately?" he asked patiently, waiting for her to stop fidgeting.

"Not really." The Garrett's master bedroom suddenly came to mind. The framed pictures of seven-year-old Annie with her mother. Would Daniel Garrett keep Elizabeth's memory alive for his daughter? Would he comb her hair as her mother probably once had and read her nursery rhymes at bedtime, or would he close himself off from his little girl in order to hide from his own pain? Would he be there for Annie on her wedding day?

"You don't always have to be so strong, Sam." Chris took hold of her left hand before she could turn away. "You aren't alone any longer."

"I know that," she assured him with a smile, but he saw right through to the truth in her eyes.

"'Time is running out', Sam. That's your phrase, not mine." Chris tugged on her arm, pulling her around the marble island until she was standing between his knees. He took hold of her chin and looked directly into her eyes. "You are healthy and alive, Rita - you aren't going to share your mother's fate."

She closed her eyes for a moment, needing a short break from his intensity. He didn't understand. How could he? Maybe she had been brooding about her mother lately, but dying of cancer was not her only or her greatest fear. Soft lips brushed across her mouth and when her eyelids fluttered open to face the azure blue beauty of his gaze, it was all suddenly very clear. Her hell on earth would be to lose him. All this talk about the past had served to remind her of the one pattern that had continually repeated itself for thirty-three years. Rita Lance always ended up alone.

Chris stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, trying to soften her tense expression. "I'm not going to disappear on you," he promised.

"How did you…."

"I know you, my friend, and I know that look on your face." His hands moved to settle on her waist. "There is no way I can predict whether we'll have ten years together or fifty, but what I can do is promise to never stop loving you."

His lips were no more than a fraction of an inch away now. It would be so easy to believe him - so easy to just let go of all the worries and accept the hope that he was offering. She made one last-ditch attempt to explain. "Don't you get it, Sam? My mother, my father, the Lances…."

"Rita…." The hushed whisper was accompanied by some serious nuzzling against the side of her throat. Her hands rose up to cup the back of his head as he spoke into her ear. "We may never know the reasons why your parents made the decisions they did, and only God can explain why the Lances were on the road with a drunk driver the day they died, but you aren't cursed by fate and neither am I. We've both had to learn some hard lessons in the past, but we're stronger now and we have each other."

Rita rested her forehead against his.

"I told you I could help," he couldn't resist adding.

"You are so sure of yourself, Lorenzo," she sighed in defeat. The man had enough confidence for both of them - and then some.

He framed her face in his hands, thumbs brushing lightly across her cheeks. "Don't let this well-trained, calm facade, fool you, Sammy." His slow, husky drawl sent flutters along fragile nerve endings. "I've been very worried about you - and about us. You were shutting me out and it hurt more than I ever thought possible."

"I'm sorry…" Her mouth touched his softly as she sought to prove the sincerity of her words. He parted his lips and groaned, creating an answering response in the quickening of her blood. Her senses were flooded with the taste of him. Her hands fisted in the soft white cotton of his T-shirt. Desire and need flared hotly in the pit of her stomach. She broke away from the kiss reluctantly. "You should probably drink your juice," she stammered, nodding towards the stairway, "and I should go up and take a shower. It's been a very long day."

"Forget the juice," he murmured, reclaiming her mouth.

His hunger did not surprise her because it mirrored her own, but the slight trembling of his hands did. She heard his sharp intake of break of breath as he worked loose the buttons of her jacket and pushed the soft blue material to the floor. He kept one hand pressed into the small of her back while the other closed over the cream-colored lace of her bra. She felt herself tighten at his touch. A soft purring sound started at the back of her throat as his mouth replaced his hand. The past was temporarily forgotten in the urgency of the present.

A voice in the back of his head urged him to slow down, but Chris paid it no mind as he lost himself in the sensual onslaught of their kiss. His hands moved independently of his brain, caressing her back and shoulders before unbuttoning her jacket and pushing the material away. He needed all barriers between them gone, both physical and emotional. There was no blouse beneath the jacket, only bare shoulders and a delicate undergarment that felt fragile and sexy as hell. His lips abandoned hers and he gazed downward. A dark, hardening peak pressed against his open palm. Her breath came in short gasps as he bent his head and suckled her through the lace. She swayed on her feet and sank her hands into his hair. When he finally released her, he looked back up into eyes that sparkled with emerald fire. He brought her hand to his lips and silently, without ever letting go, he led her upstairs.

Standing next to the bed, they remained locked in an embrace that Chris wasn't sure he could ever willingly break away from. She was his undoing, his weakness, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Ever since committing themselves to this intimate relationship - to crossing the 'line' - there had been no going back, at least not for him. Through all the emotional upheaval of the previous week, one message had come through loud and clear: No other woman could ever mean as much to him as Rita did. He was deeply in love for the first time in his life, and if they were reassigned to new partners at work, so be it.

She was his partner in life and that was where their true destiny was to be found and their final legacy to be written.

Rita broke away from the kiss but continued to run her hands over his chest, as if addicted to the feel of soft cotton. Chris shuddered and attempted to pull the T-shirt out of his waistband, but she brushed his hands away. His jeans, which had started out snug, were now distinctly uncomfortable. Her hands slid into his back pockets, and he groaned again. If she didn't hurry, he was going to embarrass himself in a way he hadn't experienced since high school. She must have sensed he was close to a breaking point because she moved backward, sinking down onto the bed and pulling him on top of her.

"Get rid of this," she murmured, dragging the shirt up over his head, and then proceeding to make a hands-on exploration of his arms and chest.

Propped up on one elbow, he thought he knew what to expect when her mouth touched his skin, but the minute soft lips closed over a sensitive male nipple, electricity shot through him, and he arched his back, crying out her name. Comforting hands stroked his back and then moved to his hips, pulling him closer.

"I missed you last night," she confessed as he hungrily placed kisses along the base of her neck and collarbone, "and the night before."

"Good," he muttered, finding himself annoyed by the lace barrier between himself and the soft flesh he craved. "Why do you still have so many clothes on?" he teased.

"You must be out of practice…." The last of her sentence was cut off by the quick press of his mouth on hers. The satin straps on her shoulders were removed one at a time, with the rest of her clothing following soon afterward. His hands trailed down the length of her legs, reveling in the satiny firmness and re-memorizing every inch of her as if it were once again their first time together.

Rita reached for him impatiently, her hands closing over a row of metal buttons, stroking his hardness as he pressed into her fingers. Chris took hold of the top button and yanked, popping the fly open and freeing himself all at the same time.

Her touch was almost too much to bear as he struggled to rid himself of the jeans without letting go of her lips. It wasn't until he was stretched out over her, skin to skin, that his mouth broke contact. Still positioned between her legs, he stroked her inner thighs, working his way towards her center. Words of love were whispered against her mouth and ear, and he found new depths of pleasure watching the erotic play of emotions that crossed over her face. When she was finally at the brink, that same desperate, teetering edge he had been hovering on for what felt like an eternity, he entered her slowly, pressing her into the mattress.

His mouth traveled hungrily over the side of her face and throat, his five o'clock shadow grazing her skin like a thousand tiny pinpoints of pleasure. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, locking him in place deep within the recesses of her body. This blinding passion had always been there between them, lying dormant until that fateful night when they had dared to love each other fully. It's existence no longer surprised either of them, but they would forever be in awe.

"I love you." The words came out thick and rough as if pulled from deep within his chest. He thrust harder, quickening his movements, and she was there to meet him every step of the way.

"And I, you..."

* * *

Harry walked out of his office at twelve noon the following day and caught his best homicide couple in what could only be described as a compromising position. They were standing too close to each other - way too close to each other, and Chris was cradling his partner's face in his hands. He was staring so intently into her eyes, Harry knew they were going to kiss at any moment, and Rita didn't look as if she'd argue when it happened. It was so unlike either detective to cross this line during work hours, he didn't think twice before blurting out, "Hey, hey, hey…. break it up you two. What's going on out here?" Hands resting on hips, he took in Rita's flustered appearance and Chris' satisfied grin.

"We're just trying to get into the mood for our undercover assignment," Chris explained, moving his arm protectively around his partner's shoulders. "You remember, don't you, Cap? We're supposed to be a hot looking engaged couple."

"Yeah, well…. try and keep your hands to yourself for a few more hours. It's still early." Harry studied their expressions for a few seconds longer and then nodded slowly. His eyes lit up with a mischievous spark as he waved a finger back and forth and asked, "Does this mean that everything is okay between…"

Rita ran a hand over her hair, trying to capture a few flyaway strands. "Of course, it is, Cap. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Ahaaaaa…. I knew it couldn't be anything serious," he crowed. "What did I tell you, Lorenzo?"

Rita became very still. "Chris talked to you about….?"

"Time to go, partner," Chris interrupted, turning her towards the nearest exit. "We'll be late for our interview with Elizabeth Garrett's psychotherapist."

"Wait a minute..."

"Come on, Rita." Harry stepped in between his two detectives. "Maybe this quack can shed a little light on our victim's frame of mind." With a hand on each of their shoulders, he guided them toward the swinging doors. "By the time you return, the transcripts of those videotapes Chris picked up should be here. Donovan and your partner took a look at them while you were entertaining Captain Johnson. According to -George, it might be enough to close down Jackson's operations at the club, but definitely not enough to tie him to the Garrett murder. It's up to you and Chris to make that connection tonight."

"Any suggestions on how?"

Harry smiled at Rita. "You'll figure something out. Now shoo…. Go on…. Take care of the leg work now and get back here for the big meeting at nine o'clock tonight."

He accepted their promises to return on time, and then stood in the doorway, watching them disappear down the hallway. He was losing a hell of a homicide team, that was for sure, but he couldn't help grinning anyway.

* * *

Jackson Kincaid reached across his desk and grabbed another handful of files. He riffled through their contents quickly, deciding what to keep and what to destroy. Thanks to his careful planning and Randy's talent for creative accounting, the past four years had been extremely profitable. Nightclubs were a cash-heavy business and as difficult as it was to avoid keeping most of it for himself, especially with an absentee owner, he was smart enough to limit his self-imposed profit-sharing plan to a mere twenty-five percent. This way, the club continued to run in the black and the owner had no reason to leave his island in the Caribbean. The receipts were petty change now anyway, at least when compared to his current earnings in the adult video market.

The first tape had been a fluke, the product of a dare issued by members of a private sex club that used The Edge as an informal meeting place on Thursday nights. With a little encouragement, members of the group began propositioning other patrons, daring each other to see who could get someone into the back room first. Before too long, a full-size bed had been brought in to replace the small cot in one of the upstairs offices, and a brand-new enterprise had been underway. The drugs were added later, just to better the odds and protect themselves from victims who might otherwise remember being 'coerced'.

Members of the club never questioned Jackson regarding the final destination of these tapes. Whether they were purposely turning a blind eye, or too busy feeding their addictions by living on the edge with dangerous sex and all the free drinks they could handle, he didn't know and didn't care. As soon as reliable connections were found to copy and distribute the underground films, the money started rolling in. Internet sales alone would make him a multi-millionaire in the coming year.

After the last file was closed and set aside, Jackson began to methodically empty his desk drawers. It was time to move their business to a fresh location. Past time, actually, but he had grown comfortable in West Palm. A swatch of bright blue caught his eye. As he pulled the silk scarf out of his bottom drawer and stretched it out on the desk, his senses picked up a familiar scent.

He had been fond of Liz, one of the newer members of the Thursday night group. Claiming to be bored at home, she had joined her small circle of friends in a search for happiness through pleasures of the flesh. He had been only too happy to assist, and with his coaching, she had evolved into an exciting, creative lover. As luck would have it, she also happened to be independently wealthy, placing few demands on him, other than his time.

Snatching the scarf from his desk, he balled it up and tossed it into his overflowing trash can. In the end, she had disappointed him just like all the others. Women never failed to confuse sex with love. As if he could ever love a whore. Once she accidentally discovered his plans to leave, she had turned on him as they all did eventually, threatening to go to the police if he didn't take her with him. It had been her biggest mistake and also her last.

In some small way, he blamed himself. He had allowed himself to get careless and careless people ended up in jail. Taking Liz back to her home that night had been his way of absolving himself. If it had been anyone else, he would have dumped the body in a back alley without a second thought.

He pushed aside the memories. Liz was past history now, and his main concern had to be getting out of West Palm as cleanly as possible.

"They've arrived."

Jackson looked up at the sound of Randy's voice. His assistant had opened the door and stuck his head into the private office. Both men turned to stare at a wall of monitors, easily spotting the attractive couple as they crossed in front of the surveillance camera near the entrance. The woman would look good on film, and he felt the early stirrings of desire. Their final West Palm video might also be their finest to date. Definitely one for his private collection.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yeah, we set up the rooms just like you instructed, and everyone knows what to do." Instead of leaving, Randy remained in the doorway, waiting for his boss to look back up.

Jackson finally did, lifting a curious eyebrow as he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I have a bad feeling about tonight. We should have left on Monday after totaling the weekend receipts. In fact, I suggest we forget about these two and take off early tonight. The cops are eventually going to connect Elizabeth Garrett to the club, and personally, I think we should be out of here before that happens."

Jackson's eyes narrowed into two dark slits. "We're practically out the door already, Randy. Try not to lose your nerve."

"I haven't lost my nerve," Randy assured him impatiently, "but I fail to understand the difference between leaving now and leaving tomorrow morning."

"I want the woman."

"We can leave her with Jason. He knows how to make a tape. I'll personally make sure he forwards it to a secure address."

"You're not understanding me, Randy." Jackson stood up and walked to the panel of six video monitors. The woman could be seen on at least two of them. He chose to ignore the man at her side. That little problem would be dealt with easily enough.

"You don't mean…"

"Yes. I will consider her my final gift from the beautiful city of West Palm." Jackson's eyes never left the screen as he spoke

"You're risking everything - all we've built up for the last three and a half years - just to get your hands on this woman? We've had younger, more beautiful women in here on a weekly basis. Why this one?" Randy grew visibly nervous when his boss failed to acknowledge the question. His intent had not been to anger the volatile man. "Jackson…"

"I'll have her because I want her, my friend. Give me a few hours and we'll leave here tonight, just as you wish."

"Why can't we can forget about the woman and her fiancé?"

"Three hours, Randy." Dark eyes left the screen to stare coldly at the man in the doorway. "Assign someone to pack up the video equipment after we're gone. Tonight's master tape will remain in my possession."

"But what about Garcia? He's coming by tonight to pick up the latest batch."

Jackson was once again staring at the monitors, impatient with Randy's stubbornness. The man was slowly wearing out his usefulness. "Get out there and serve my new friends a drink," he ordered. As soon as Randy disappeared, pulling the door closed, Jackson reached out to touch the flickering image on the screen in front of him.

"Rita…." Anticipation buzzed through his veins as he tested the intriguing woman's name on his lips. There was a time in his youth when no woman would give him the time of day, but all that had changed now. His last night in West Palm promised to be a memorable one.

"I don't see our host."

Keeping one arm around her waist, Chris stayed close to his partner as they pushed their way across the crowded night club. It was a few minutes before eleven, and the place was in full swing. "Don't worry," he assured her, "he'll find us. Especially if he gets a good look at what you're wearing."

"Lucky me," she muttered under her breath. "Let's look for a table in the back. That will make it easier for you to slip through the doors unnoticed."

Forced to walk single file through the crush of people, Chris let Rita lead the way, but held on tight to her left hand. He continually scanned the faces around them, challenging one pair of bold eyes after another as many dared to ogle his fiancée. His silent threat to each guaranteed that they were left alone. Rita located an empty table and a waitress approached them immediately for their drink order.

As soon as the waitress left, Rita leaned towards him, brushing her lips across his as she whispered, "Randy is behind the bar."

Chris surveyed the room as he nibbled on her lips. "Damn, I don't see Anderson's man anywhere. Something must have gone wrong." He turned his face to the side and whispered, "Did you get that, Cap?"

"We're checking on it, Chris. Hang on."

"We'll have to be careful," Rita cautioned. "I spotted three additional cameras that I hadn't noticed the last time we were here."

Their drinks were delivered in record time.

"Cheers," Rita mumbled, tapping her tumbler of scotch against Chris'. She held the glass to her lips and tipped it slightly, letting her hand hide the fact that the brown liquid never touched her lips. Chris did the same.

"Rita… Chris… you decided to join us tonight."

Startled, Rita jumped in spite of herself, spilling a little of her drink on the short silver dress she was wearing. She brushed off the amber drops, aware that Jackson was standing right behind her chair, following the movement of her hand with great interest.

"Jackson, right?" Chris stood up and thrust his hand across the table in an instinctive attempt to draw the manager's eyes away from Rita.

"Yes," Jackson's gaze narrowed and he answered slowly as they shook hands. He seemed to study Chris for a moment before adding, "I hope you don't mind my borrowing your fiancée for a dance…. or two."

"You remembered," Rita responded with a smile, "and your timing is perfect. I love this song." The manager was once again dressed in all black, but this time his long blond hair hung freely past shoulders. Dark eyes raked over her with such intensity, she automatically checked the neckline of her dress to make sure it hadn't accidentally slipped down too low.

"I was hoping for something a little slower," Jackson informed her as he took her hand to help her rise, "but if this song pleases you…." After a brief nod towards Chris, he led Rita to the dance floor.

Chris allowed himself a few seconds to glower at the manager's back before scanning the room. Randy remained busy behind the bar and he knew Rita would do her best to keep Jackson facing the opposite side of the room as they danced, so it was time to make his move. He used the crowd around him to make his way unnoticed to the back door. He was just a few feet away from his goal when three women closed in on him unexpectedly. They surrounded him and as his back came into contact with the rear wall, he couldn't help feeling that he had somehow been trapped.

"Can I help you, ladies?"

"You forgot your drink, Chris." His scotch was held by an attractive redhead wearing a short black dress that was stretched over every curve so tightly, it was a miracle she could breathe. She drifted closer, holding the tumbler against the side of her face where it accentuated the collagen fullness of her brightly painted lips.

"Do I know you?" he asked, quickly taking the glass out of her hand.

The blonde in the bright blue mini skirt and sheer blue blouse answered for her. "Jackson was going to introduce us, but he seems to have forgotten his manners."

"He's dancing with my fiancée." He stressed the word fiancée, but it didn't seem to make any difference. "She'll be returning soon; I should get back to our table."

"Don't rush," the third woman purred. "Jackson just signaled the DJ. That song won't end for another ten minutes, at least." With dark hair and dark eyes, she seemed the least threatening of the bunch. Her burgundy colored dress, despite being form-fitting and a little on the short side, had a high neckline and long sleeves. "Why don't you come play with us until then."

Chris chose not to answer the blunt come on, hoping to draw them out a little more. "Are you ladies part of the Thursday night group that Jackson has been telling us about?"

"Yes, we are," the redhead admitted as she wound her arm around his. "My name is Eve and my friends here are Tiffany and Amber."

"Get them talking Chris," Harry hissed in his ear, "or get them to take you in back."

Chris fought the urge to roll his eyes. If Cap were in his place right now, facing three so-called ladies that looked ready to eat him for breakfast, Mr. Bright Ideas would be hightailing it out of there and heading for the hills. A quick glance at the dance floor assured him Rita was doing okay.

"Why don't you tell me a little more about this group of yours," Chris suggested. Little Tiffany, the blonde with the see-through blouse and ample chest that defied all known laws of gravity, latched on to his other arm while Amber led the way to the door he had been trying to reach. Amber's dress from the back was something of a revelation. She was bare from her shoulders to her …. Chris stopped the exploration right there, and asked, "Where are we going?"

"Why should we bother telling you what we're about when it would be so much more fun to show you," Amber explained. With one hand on the doorknob, her black eyes burned with an unnatural hunger. "We promise to return you in one piece."

Small teeth latched onto one of his earlobes and a breathy voice assured him, "One wonderfully satisfied piece."

Chris could have sworn he heard a chuckle from the Captain. Luckily the club was dark enough and Tiffany (or was the redhead named Eve?) didn't spot the tiny receiver in his ear. He quickly decided that the three women offered him the best opportunity to get into the back rooms without looking suspicious. Just as Amber disappeared into the private hallway, a hand closed over the seat of his pants. "Don't rush me," he blurted out defensively, shrugging away from both women as they passed through the doorway. He insisted that they walk ahead of him.

The corridor they had entered was short and narrow, with a door marked "Private" on the right and a stairway to the second floor on the left. The three women started up the stairs, but Chris' attention was focused on the door. He tried the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked.

"Chris…. it's this way," Tiffany whined, coming back down the stairs to get him.

"I'm not feeling well," he groaned, holding his stomach as he stumbled into the office. "Maybe it was something I drank." He tried not to laugh as her eyes lit up with worry. "Let me just lie here on the couch for a minute."

"This is Jackson's office, Chris. We aren't allowed in here." She tried to tug him towards the door, but his dead weight was too much for her. "I'll go get the girls and be right back."

The minute she crossed the threshold, Chris jumped up and began his search. "It looks like he's packing up, Cap. The smug son of a bitch must be getting ready to run." He took a second to check out the monitors, but couldn't spot his partner among the masses. "How is Rita doing?"

"She's fine, Chris. Jackson is still coming on to her with the biggest line of bull I've ever heard, but she's holding her own. I'd say he's determined to distract her so the ladies can take care of you."

"Gotcha. Any word on our bartender friend yet?" Chris moved around quickly as they conversed.

"Anderson is still working on it." Harry paused for a moment and then added, "So… these women - how good looking are they?"

"Trust me, Cap, you wouldn't believe me if I… wait a minute." Chris searched his pocket for a latex glove but came up empty. "Damn.."

"What is it?"

"I've got something, Cap." He carefully lifted the blue silk scarf out of Jackson's trash and stuffed it into his coat pocket just as the three women appeared in the doorway. Placing a hand on either side of the brass trash can, he faked a few dry heaves.

"Chris!" The concerned ladies cried out in unison as they rushed to his side.

Amber remained standing as the other two took hold of his arms and helped him up. She glanced around the private office with interest. "What's going on in here?"

Chris looked all around as if noticing the sloppy stacks of files and wadded up paper on the floor for the first time. The mess looked out of place in the trendy, expensively furnished, office. "Looks like somebody is getting ready to move out."

"That's impossible," Amber snapped back. "Jackson would have told us if he were leaving." She continued to circle the room, picking up papers as she tried to figure out what Jackson was up to.

"Is he a member of your group?"

"No," Eve chimed in as she continued to stroke Chris' arm, "but he always lets us play here."

"What do you mean by 'play'?"

"Sex, of course," Tiffany blurted out. "But we get bored easy, so Jackson lets us take turns picking out somebody new, and then he convinces them to come play with us."

Amber glanced over her shoulder and threw Tiffany a dark look. "Shut up, Tiff."

Tiffany appeared to take offense at Amber's sharp tone. "Why should I? Especially if it's all going to be over now anyway. Maybe Chris can help us find a new place to play."

"You are such an airhead," Amber responded with disgust. She was done searching and ready to leave. "I'm going to talk to Jackson."

"But Amber, what about Chris…." Eve was still holding on to Chris and looking very upset as if her favorite toy were about to be taken away from her.

Chris got their attention by clutching at his stomach again as if in great pain. "What was in my drink?" he asked.

"Nothing," Amber assured him sharply.

"What did he give me?" Chris begged the other two in a frantic voice. "I'm allergic to certain drugs. I have to know…" He doubled over with a groan.

"I don't know the name of it," Eve blurted out in a panic. "It's just supposed to make you more agreeable."

Amber turned towards the talkative redhead, "Shut up, Eve!"

Eve flushed but Tiffany didn't hesitate to pick up where she left off. "It's the same thing Randy always uses, but nobody has reacted like this before. What should we do?" She looked at Amber and then Eve, but neither one had a quick answer.

"Take me out into the alley," he begged. "I'm going to be sick."

"We'll take you to the men's room," Amber interrupted, her anger increasing with each change of plans.

"No!" he raised his voice. "Take me outside. I need fresh air."

Amber reluctantly nodded her agreement, and the women worked together to help the stricken man back out into the hallway and down the hall towards the rear exit. As soon as Eve opened the door, Captain Anderson and two of his detectives pulled the small group outside into the alley. The surprised women were taken into custody without a fuss, while Chris and one of the detectives headed back inside to the upper floor of the club.

They quickly discovered that the upstairs was divided into four rooms off of the main hallway. They each took a side. Chris carefully opened the door to the first room, which appeared to be used for storage. Across the hall, the detective from West Palm opened his door a little wider and silently  
signaled for Chris' attention. Chris peered inside the room. The walls were plain white. In fact, the entire room was plain except for the one bright splash of color provided by the large bed in the center. Two video cameras were strategically placed on the ceiling to catch all the action from  
different angles. Chris turned away in disgust and tried the other door on his side of the hallway. It was identical except for the pattern of the sheets. He held up a hand to stop his colleague from opening the last door. The other man withdrew his weapon and froze until Chris positioned himself on the opposite side of the doorway.

At the count of three, Chris turned the knob and they pushed their way into the small room, startling the person sitting inside. No more than twenty to twenty-five years old, the young man in charge of the video equipment leapt out of his chair to protest, but shut up at the sight of two guns pointed directly at him. He glanced past Chris as if gauging his chances of escape, but Chris shook his head and the cornered man's shoulders slumped in defeat. At five feet, six inches tall, and a hundred and thirty pounds dripping wet, he was in no position to charge past two armed police officers. He crossed his arms over a faded T-shirt that proclaimed his preference for heavy metal over disco.

"Palm Beach PD," Chris informed him, flashing his shield. "What's your name?"

"What do you want?"

The detective from West Palm pushed him back down into his chair. "Name first, then we talk."

"Jason Freeman," was the sullen reply.

Chris holstered his gun and smiled as he noticed sweat breaking out on the young Mr. Freeman's forehead. "Well, Jason, we'd like your cooperation, otherwise, the responsibility for this whole operation is going to land squarely on your shoulders."

"Hey…" Jason held up his hands to proclaim his innocence, "I just run the cameras. This ain't my deal."

"Just sit back and relax," Chris instructed, "while we tell you what you're going to do for us."

"One more drink for you, Rita." Jackson reached across the bar and Randy immediately placed a glass of scotch in his hand. He held it to Rita's mouth and encouraged her to take a sip.

"Noooooo…." she said, pushing the glass away, but not before a small amount splashed past her lips, "I've hand enough, Jack….son." She dragged out the syllables of his name and smiled up into the coldly calculating eyes that were watching her. "Drinking is boring… let's keep dancing instead." According to the Captain, Chris was already in place upstairs, which was good, because Jackson appeared ready to make his move.

Jackson set the tumbler back down on the bar top and placed his hands around her waist. "I think we should take a short rest. Let me show you my office."

It's about time, she couldn't help thinking to herself. Jackson's thumbs were straying a little off course and it was all she could do to rein in her temper. She stumbled backward, forcing him to move his hands to her shoulders to prevent her from falling. "I don't want to rest," she pouted, as he led her through the club towards his office. "If you won't dance with me, maybe Chris will."

Once inside his office, she glanced around as if lost. "Where is Chris?"

"He's probably on the dance floor," Jackson assured her. "Or he might be upstairs. Would you like to see upstairs?"

Smiling brightly once again, Rita flopped down onto the black leather couch. "Yes," she answered with a deep sigh, "I want to go upstairs." She pointed towards the ceiling. "Maybe Chris is upstairs." The look of triumph in his eyes assured her that he was buying her act.

"I promise you, Rita, you'll forget all about Chris once we're there." Jackson reached for the phone on his desk and dialed the in-house extension for the control room. "Are the girls in room two?" The smile on his face widened as he listened to the answer. "I'm on my way to room one. Start the tape now - I want every second recorded." He hung up the phone and reached for Rita, pulling her up from the couch and onto her feet. "Come on, sweetheart, we have a date with destiny."

The couple made their way upstairs not knowing that as soon as they left Jackson's office, undercover detectives moved in to handcuff Randy behind the bar and preserve Rita's last drink as evidence to be used in the case against all those involved. It was all done very quietly and very efficiently, with none of the patrons noticing the mini-drama playing out right before their eyes.

Jackson Kincaid could barely contain himself as he opened the door to what had become known in his inner circles as bedroom number one. He kept a hand on Rita's back as he let her proceed ahead of him. The room had been set up just as he had ordered it to be, strategically lit with music piped in from the club below.

Rita stepped further into the room and then turned back to her host. "Chris isn't here," she whispered loudly.

"No, he isn't," Jackson responded, moving closer. "But we can wait for him together."

Rita kept retreating until she bumped into the mattress. "Do you want to dance?" she asked, stalling for time.

Jackson laughed, his eyes narrowing in desire. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his. "No, little one, no dancing in this room. This is where we will make magic." Just as he lowered his mouth to kiss her, they were interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

"Rita! Are you in there?"

"What the hell…" Furious, Jackson yanked open the door. Chris was standing in the hallway with his hair messed up and his shirttails hanging out. He looked as if he had just tumbled out of bed.

"I'm here for my fiancée," he demanded, brushing past the club manager and grabbing Rita by the arm. "You don't know what this guy is up to," he informed her, "but I do.

"Get out," Jackson ordered through clenched teeth, "or I'll be forced to show Rita what you've been up to while we were dancing."

"You don't scare me, Kincaid. You'll keep your mouth shut or I'll tell the police what happened to your last girlfriend," Chris shot back. Jackson continued to glare at him as he added, "Amber becomes very talkative when she's excited."

"Amber doesn't know about Liz." Jackson circled the room like a caged animal. "Nobody knows."

"Except Randy." Chris could see that the barb struck home. "And guess who's been sleeping with Randy this past week?"

"I'll kill him," Jackson spat out, making for the door. "And when I'm done with him, I'll kill you too."

"Just like you killed Elizabeth Garrett?" Rita asked, bringing Jackson's attention back to her. He had forgotten her presence while verbally sparring with Chris.

"I had to, but don't worry," he assured her, "she was a nobody. She wasn't like you at all." He reached across to touch her face, but Rita backed up to stand next to her partner.

Chris snapped a metal bracelet on Jackson's wrist and twisted it behind their suspect's back. "That's a wrap," he called out in the direction of the cameras before turning back to the man he had just finished handcuffing. "Jackson Kincaid, you're under arrest for the murder of Elizabeth Garrett." Rita immediately started reading the surprised club manager his rights as Chris guided him back into the hallway.

The detective from West Palm emerged from the control room with Jason and a box full of tapes just as Captains Lipschitz and Anderson came bounding up the stairs. Captain Anderson's detectives swarmed over the downstairs preparing to close it down and protect valuable evidence.

"Let's get him downtown," Harry signaled a pair of uniformed officers to take charge of Jackson, but Captain Anderson quietly interrupted.

"Do you mind if I do the honors, Harry. I've been waiting a long time for this."

Harry nodded in understanding and after a brief conference, Jackson was led away by the West Palm Police Captain. Harry glanced around, looking for his detectives. Chris had returned to the control room, but his partner was standing in the hallway, rubbing the back of her neck. "You okay, Rita?"

"I'm fine, Cap," Rita grimaced, "except for this pounding headache. I accidentally swallowed a little of that cheap scotch Kincaid was pedaling."

"I want you checked out at the hospital before you go home."

"That's not necessary, Cap," she immediately argued. "It was no more than a tiny sip." All she wanted to do was get done here at the scene and then get home.

"I'm not kidding, detective. We still haven't confirmed what drug they were using. Get yourself looked at tonight and we'll debrief in the morning."

"I'm perfectly fine."

Chris walked up just in time to hear her protests. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Your partner took a sip of that scotch. Take her down to the ER and get her checked out. Then call me from the hospital before you head home. We'll go over everything in the morning."

"There are three to four hours' worth of work left here tonight, Cap."

"I will take care of it, Lance." The Captain's voice left no room for arguing. "You two did a great job, but it's time to let the clean-up batters take it home." He turned to Chris who had been standing there with a grim look on his face. "Get that head checked out," he said, pointing to Rita.

* * *

ONE WEEK LATER

"Who did you have to kill to get this room, Sam?"

Chris glanced over his shoulder and smiled at his partner as she walked out of the bathroom, fluffing her hair with her hands and wearing a thick white bathrobe. Their joint shower had taken a little longer than expected and her cheeks were still flushed from the heat of the hairdryer. Or was it from the excitement of her surprise dinner party attended by a small group of their close friends?

He rose from his chair, tightened the belt of his matching robe, and joined her in front of the sliding glass door. Standing a little behind Rita, he wrapped his arms around her and skimmed his mouth over the side of her neck. Her skin was smooth and smelled of wildflowers.

"Are you happy with it?" he murmured. He studied their reflection in the glass and saw an answering glow in the depths of her eyes. His gaze traveled downward, drawn to the sight of his hands flattened across her lower stomach.

"I'm happy with everything tonight," she answered, staring out at the ocean with quiet contentment. Their tenth story room faced the Atlantic with nothing to block their view of dawn's imminent approach. "I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday than surrounded by friends. I had no idea you could be so devious, Lorenzo. You really surprised me."

Cheek to cheek, he wanted to remember this moment for a lifetime. "Have I wished you a proper happy birthday yet?"

"About ten times since midnight. I have a beautiful new pair of earrings, which I love. I had a delicious dinner in the restaurant downstairs and now I am standing in the most gorgeous hotel room I have ever seen. I'd say you've got it covered, partner." Rita tilted her head back and his mouth met hers for a brief kiss. She sighed when he released her.

"And don't forget…" Roving hands sought to remind her of the passionate intimacies they had shared.

She turned in his arms and rested her face on a broad, terry covered shoulder. "I could never forget that, Sam."

"You aren't too tired to open one last gift, are you?"

Raising her head, she threw him a questioning look. "What more could you possibly give me?"

"It's outside."

"Out there?"

"Come on…." Chris slid the large glass door open and led her out onto the balcony. He bypassed a small table and chairs, pulling her down with him onto a lounge chair instead. With one arm around her shoulders, they fit snugly, but comfortably. Her hand rested over his heart. Surely the pounding would give away his nervousness. "Warm enough?" he asked, noticing that her eyes were half-closed.

"Hmm… yes, as long as you stay here with me, I'll be fine. What time is it?"

"Four-thirty. We'll be able to watch the sunrise soon."

"It's the perfect gift. Thank you." Sleep was quickly invading the edges of her consciousness and she snuggled deeper into his arms. A gentle breeze, salty and familiar, blew in off the ocean, mixing shadows of remembrance with memories of home.

"That wasn't the gift I had in mind, Sam," Chris murmured into her hair. He couldn't tell if she heard him or not, but she was making those contented little noises that he loved, and he smiled. He was reluctant to disturb his tired beauty, but there was one final gift he wanted to give her before she fell asleep. "Are you awake?" he prodded.

"Only because you keep talking," she complained groggily. Hearing him chuckle, she sighed and forced her eyelids back up. "I'm listening."

Chris reached down for the large manila envelope that he had propped up against the side of the lounge chair when they first checked in. He owed a lot of people a lot of favors for what was contained inside, but none of that mattered right now.

"Happy birthday, Sam."

Rita took the envelope out of his hands and sat up on the edge of the chair. Before opening it, she turned to Chris and searched his expression. "What is it?"

She really hadn't gone far, sitting next to him with her hips pressed against the side of his leg, but he missed her warmth. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her shoulder and his hands on her waist. "Look inside and find out," he urged.

Rita carefully removed a file folder from the envelope. Her eyes darted back to his.

"Open it…" His hushed words of encouragement carried unspoken promises of love and support.

Head bent as she opened the file, her expression was hidden behind a curtain of dark hair, but he felt her surprise in a sharp intake of breath.

"How?" was all she could say.

Chris took the folder before it slipped from her hands and pulled her across his lap. Once she was settled, he returned the gift and they spread it out over the top of her thighs. She touched the photograph again to make sure it was real.

"It wasn't my imagination."

"No," he assured her.

"But… where?"

Chris took another look at the photo of Donald and Alexandra Fontana. Rita's memories had been accurate. In a long white dress and flowing veil, the beautiful brunette in the wedding portrait looked very much like a princess. Touching Rita's chin, he guided her face towards him, marveling at the family resemblance he had noticed the instant he laid eyes on the photo. His thumb brushed across her lips as he modestly tried to explain the personal mission that had consumed every moment of his free time for the last eight days. It hadn't been easy trying to work in secrecy, but surprising her with this gift had been of the utmost importance to him.

"I know we've been swamped all week, trying to tie up the Garrett case, but while you were meeting with George last Monday, I paid a visit to Flores in Missing Persons. He gave me the names of a few people to contact and it all kind of snowballed from there."

"It was that easy?" Rita carefully lifted the 8" x 10" color print and turned it over. The name of the studio on the back was a shock. It was one she had driven by a hundred times before. Underneath the wedding photo, there were additional surprises.

"I wouldn't exactly say it was easy," Chris admitted. "Most of the black and whites are digital photos that were emailed to me. I'm hoping to get the originals soon."

"I don't know what to say…." The hairstyle and pose dated the subject in the copy of a graduation photo that was over forty years old, but there was a spirit to the woman that varying shades white and gray could not begin to dim. Rita's fingers trembled slightly as they touched the paper smile that was so much like her own. As a little of the shock wore off, she began paging through the rest of the file. There were copies of birth certificates, death certificates, her mother's medical records, and even a few old grant deeds with her parents' names and signatures on them. The last two pages were photocopies of newspaper clippings. The first was the announcement of her parent's engagement and the second was a local account of her father's failed land deal. She didn't stop to read them yet, but closed the file carefully and set it down on the balcony floor.

"I probably should have left that last article out," Chris apologized, "but I thought you'd want to see it all."

"You were right," she assured him, nodding slowly as she stared at her own hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

"Are you okay?" Chris gently massaged her lower neck and back, all the while trying to sneak a peek at her expression. Her silence was beginning to worry him.

Rita took a deep breath and then glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright, filled with emotions that spoke directly to his heart. She was biting her lip as if trying to remain in control, but she smiled as she reached out to him. Her open palm was warm against the side of his cheek.

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before." She leaned into his chest, repositioning herself as he sank back down to a reclining position, pulling her with him. "Thank you," she murmured.

"It's the least I could do, Sam. You've given me a wonderful future to look forward to, so I wanted to give you back a piece of the past."

Any further comment was cut off as her mouth sought his and she was kissing him again, stirring to life a passion that had not lessened in all their days and nights together.

He couldn't stop touching her, running his hands over her hips and thighs, seeking to bring her closer as she deepened their kiss. Her tongue filled his mouth, as her essence filled his soul, and he parted his legs as one of hers came to rest between them. The wind picked up a little and he felt her shudder, bringing back awareness of the chilled morning air around them. He released her reluctantly, savoring the dampness left behind on his lips.

"Maybe we should go inside and get some sleep."

Rita had curled into a fetal position, tucking her bare feet under his bathrobe covered legs for warmth and snuggling into his side. With one arm resting across his chest and a hand over his heart, she wasn't exactly jumping at his suggestion. "We've been up this long already," she responded with a soft smile, "let's stay out here for just a few minutes longer."

"Are you sure?"

"Look out there," she whispered, as if afraid to disturb nature's wonders.

Chris glanced out at the horizon; his attention drawn to the glimmer of light that had begun to appear. His partner had become very still in his arms and he knew she was watching it too. He placed a kiss on her hair and tightened his hold on the slender beauty.

"It's here, you know."

Chris cocked his head to one side and smiled at her. "Sunrise?"

"The future."

"Our future," he corrected her.

"Yes," she agreed, returning his smile. "What do you see when you look out there?"

"Us." There was no hesitation as he added, "The home and family we'll have one day."

After a comfortable but long silence, he started wondering if she had finally fallen asleep. "Sam?"

There was no movement, only a faint, "Hmmm?"

"What do you see?"

Rita turned her face towards the morning light as it stretched across the water, casting its golden glow across their private resting place. "I spent a lot of years not wanting to look too far into the future," she confessed, "and I'm still not so sure what's out there, but I do know that I welcome it." She turned back to Chris and touched her fingers to his lips. "You've done that for me."

"Friendship and love have done that for both of us," he pointed out.

Rita nodded in agreement. Her eyes lit up, "Don't forget passion and romance."

"Good point, partner. I can't imagine my life without all of the above." He laced his fingers through hers and studied their joined hands for a moment. His voice was a husky whisper as he added, "I can't imagine my life without you."

"A family, huh? What are we talking about? One baby, maybe two?"

He smiled at her attempt to lighten his mood. "I was thinking four or five."

"That's it…" Rita was on her feet in a flash and laughing as she tried to pull him up to join her. "Now I know you're delirious."

"I've always wanted a big family, Rita."

"We'll work on that later today, but only if I get some sleep first." Picking up her precious birthday gift, she led the way back inside. They were both out of their robes and under the covers within minutes.

Half asleep, holding his fiancée in his arms, Chris' thoughts wandered back over their conversation about the future. Somewhere in the hallway outside their room, a baby cried and visions of a small child with dark hair and familiar green eyes brought a smile to his face. Was it a dream, he wondered sleepily, or a premonition? Rita's breathing was deep and even, but when his hand covered her stomach, she nestled closer and murmured in her sleep. He knew he would be joining her before too long.

"Sleep well, my friend," he whispered.

And that is exactly what they both did, neither one rising before noon of that day, the thirty-fourth anniversary of Rita Lee Lance's birth and the first day of a future that was theirs to design.

THE END

Classic Moments 1999

**Afterthoughts**: Twenty years after originally writing these stories, I don't always remember what my inspiration was back in the day but two days after posting Shadows of Remembrance certain memories came flooding back. In 1994 my older sister bought a newly published book by Hope Edelman. The title of that book is Motherless Daughters. We are lucky enough to still have my 88 yr old mother with us, but my mother was a motherless daughter. She lost her mother at age five. It is not a loss she thinks of every day, but it certainly shaped who she is, and in turn, all our lives. The book is profound and helped us understand her better.

Thoughts? Criticisms? Concerns? As always, feedback is appreciated whether by PM or review.


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